


Fundamental Forces Other Than Gravity

by TheKnittingJedi



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Astrophysics, Bi Caleb, Chronic Illness, Deirta Thelyss is not a good parent, Demi/Grey Ace Essek, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Found Family, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Essek Thelyss, Secret Relationship, background beauyasha, canon typical traumas, implied trauma, local bastard man falls in love, they're not wizards in this one but they're still dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKnittingJedi/pseuds/TheKnittingJedi
Summary: Essek's tone is academic, clinical, cold. “It would be pointless to deny that I am attracted to you. And I wouldn’t object if what happened last night would happen again. But I would be grateful if we could keep it between us.”There’s a beat, then Caleb nods. “I’m fine with keeping it quiet and casual.”Or how cold, ruthless and lonely Essek Thelyss (a brilliant student with a secret) accidentally makes some friends and falls in love: a Shadowgast college AU.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss
Comments: 81
Kudos: 298





	Fundamental Forces Other Than Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, yes, this is a 40k words one-shot. I couldn't find a way to split it that made sense, but I put breaks in it, so I hope that helps if you don't intend to read this in one sitting (please rest your eyes, get some sleep, take a walk, drink some water!)
> 
> Secondly, I've done a ton of research for this to get the setting and various elements of the plot right, but I'm ultimately a European with an English Lit degree, so there will almost definitely be mistakes and inconsistencies. Feel free to @ me if something bothers you or if you feel this requires more/different tags.
> 
> A WARNING: for a brief time Essek is Caleb's professor, and one of them is implied to be a few years older that the other. There's not really any power imbalance between them, but if any of these things is a Big Nope for you, this is the moment to hit ye ol' back button.
> 
> Last but not least, my eternal gratitude to my wonderful beta, [KmacKatie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmackatie/pseuds/KmacKatie), to Shrugs for their encouragement, and to all the friends I bothered with chats and phone calls as I was researching, and who were inexplicably super supportive of me imagining increasingly complicated circumstances for these dumb ~~wizards~~ astrophysicists to hook up.

It’s no surprise that the seven pm lecture, what with taking place so late and being an elective to boot, doesn’t draw in a big crowd. It’s no surprise either that nobody in the Department of Physics is keen on taking it on, letting the ball drop down the ladder until it falls into some TA’s helpless hands.

Still, there’s something to be said for the graveyard shift. The students are statistically more determined and engaged, and there’s a sort of romanticism in being the last people out of the building at night.

Even then, Essek would rather be anywhere else than here.

He enters, as he always does, looking straight in front of him, without even glancing at the rows and rows of mostly empty seats in the amphitheatre-shaped lecture hall (he can’t wait for the faculty to reassign him to a smaller classroom, which will happen like clockwork in a week, maximum). The facts are that brilliant and precocious as he may be, he’s just a teaching assistant, and for all the care he puts in his sharp dresses and sharper presentation, he knows he looks (and often is) younger than many of his students. He cannot let them make the mistake of assuming he’s going to be their friend.

“The science of astrophysics is the study of astronomical objects and phenomena through the methods of physics,” he says as he climbs on the dais and settles his briefcase on the desk. A smile tugs at his lips as he hears the familiar sound of quickly smothered conversations and hurriedly opened notebooks. “I assume that all of you are also in Astrophysics 101, where the teacher will surely do an adequate job of covering all the bases. Nevertheless, I expect you to have a basic knowledge of the principles of physics, and of the principles of gravity in particular.” A soft _click_ of clasps as his briefcase opens, allowing him to pull out a slim wad of paper. “Since I have a, ah… realistic amount of trust in the education system, I will now evaluate that knowledge through a test.”

And that’s when he turns towards the students, quickly counting seven heads (three tests go back in the briefcase) and ignoring — well, reveling just a bit in — the groans that ensue.

He takes a shallow breath and steels himself to descend the dais. He never likes this part. “Would you pass these to your colleagues?” he asks a young woman in the first row, handing her the seven papers. He turns around without waiting for an answer and reaches the desk again, finally allowing himself to sit down with all the grace he can muster while keeping his expression neutral. There’s no amount of tailored suits and fancy tie pins he can wear that would save his reputation if his students knew how much he’s mentally cursing his legs right now.

It’s not a good day, but not the worst he’s ever had. Flare-ups happen, however infrequently (bless his lucky stars, he thinks wryly), especially when he’s stressed. He can deal with them. At least he doesn’t have to stand up for an hour and a half, writing equations on the huge sliding whiteboards.

Now that his new batch of students is focused on something else, he can just sit and take in the faces before him, that will or won’t have a name attached to them in his memory by the end of the semester. He knows there’ll be some good brains among them. Sometimes he engages in a vague daydream where one of them will prove adequately brilliant and finally replace him in the UTA position he had been _warmly recommended_ to take on, leaving him free to pursue his research full time.

Still, there’s a lot to learn from a student’s behavior in front of an unexpected test. The worry radiates from a few of them in palpable waves, while others take a more Socratic approach and leave most of the answers blank.

Essek’s attention is drawn to a student in one of the middle rows. He’s too far for him to study properly, but something in his hunched posture and scraggly red hair makes something ping in Essek’s brain. He’s diligently filling up the test before him, brow furrowed in concentration, and is that a _cat’s paw_ that just poked out of his satchel?

Essek blinks slowly, but he doesn’t move a muscle otherwise. After a quick reflection, he chooses to ignore it and pretend nothing has happened.

*

Essek is lingering longer than usual in front of the mirror.

A few weeks have passed since the start of the semester, long enough to ingrain a routine in these short, gloomy days of fall. Essek would wake up in his dorm room, stretch, take his morning medication — when he remembers, dress and drink the first of many coffees while covering the short distance to the Physics building. There he spends his days taking notes in class or at his desk in the assistants’ room, a dark, cramped space where he conducts most of his research. Three days a week, he would eat the most edible thing the dining hall has to offer as he walks to room 9, where the meager fifteen seats look like an extravagant abundance, considering that more than half of them are empty. After class, he would go back to his room, take his evening medication — when he remembers, and read or grade some papers before getting four-to-five fitful hours of sleep.

That is, on the good days.

Bad days would have him enter the Physics building hours later (or not at all), and have lunch and coffee delivered to his room. A bad day means that, instead of covering the single blackboard of room 9 with his neat, methodical handwriting, he would give his students handouts, ask a lot of questions and assign some exercises, or outright cancel the lesson. He can’t imagine anyone feeling sorry for that, least of all him.

The star-shaped tie pin glistens in the mirror as he tightens the knot on his lilac silk tie. He’s wearing tiny earrings to match and his hair is combed to the side, as always. The conference is held by a few members of the faculty whose academic credentials he doesn’t respect very much and promises to be a heap of reheated data and statistics cobbled together to resemble a model, but he needs the credits. It’s not a high-end social gathering by any stretch of the imagination, and he has to make sure he looks up to his standards but not so ostentatious to blatantly stand out. As much as he despises generalizations, physicists aren’t widely known for their fashion sense.

The night is chilly and he’s glad for the warm scarf he tucked under the collar of his coat. The conference venue is just five minutes on foot from his dorm (on a good day) and he walks briskly, hands deep in his pockets and head down against the wind.

He doesn't know why he's surprised to see Widogast outside the lecture hall. He switched from his usual earth-toned casual knitwear to a less rumpled black sweater. Essek’s not sure he’s ever seen the man wear a coat and he shivers, envying his imperviousness to the elements. What catches Essek’s attention is that he’s just sitting on a low wall encircling a flower bed, under the warm light of a lamppost, looking defeated.

He’s also focused on scratching the ears of the cat currently dozing in his lap. Essek could easily walk by unnoticed, but he’s never seen the creature out in the open: as much as Widogast clearly intends to keep the cat under the radar, it’s the worst-kept secret ever. The animal is clearly trained to keep quiet and it’s more interested in sleeping than disrupting his lessons — which is the main reason Essek hasn’t brought it up — but he walked into room 9 at least three times to a scattering of students guiltily sweeping cat hair from their clothes.

Essek stops a few steps away. “Widogast”, he says, just to alert him of his presence. Two dazzling blue eyes look at him in something uncomfortably close to terror, and Essek softens his voice. “Are you waiting for someone?”

The hand clenched into the cat’s fur relaxes, as does Widogast’s general posture as soon as he recognises him. “Ah, Dr. Thelyss.”

Without thinking, Essek waves away those words. “Not a doctor yet. I believe that outside of the classroom we are peers, yes? Essek will suffice.” He can almost see the entire faculty raising their eyebrows upon hearing him being modest, of all things. He ignores that thought. “Are you going to the conference?”

With a short, self-deprecating laugh, Widogast resumes stroking his cat. Now that Essek can see it properly, albeit in the artificial light of the lamppost, he notices that its fur is spotted, making it look like a miniature leopard. Its small, round head turns towards him and a pair of bright eyes blink slowly.

Essek checks his watch. He really should go. He doesn’t move. “What's the issue?”

Widogast is still not looking at him, his shoulder-length hair hiding his face. “Apparently pets are not allowed in the lecture hall.”

Essek scoffs, amused, earning a small chuckle in response from Widogast. “Have you told them he's not a pet? Or she, forgive me for assuming.”

At last Widogast looks at him, his expression turning quickly from puzzlement to understanding. Essek doesn’t know why; he doesn’t need to be a prodigy in the field of Physics to put two and two together. The cat is only present when his master has a test or looks more stressed and anxious than usual. “Ah, _ja_ , he’s a male cat. And I have tried to explain, but… it’s complicated.”

Another way of saying that people are being assholes for no reason. Essek, who has some experience in this field, knows this is a battle he can win with a flick of his little finger. “Let me see if I can uncomplicate it,” he says simply, leaving Widogast in a stunned silence.

The usher at the door recognises him on sight. “Good evening, Dr. Thelyss.”

This time, Essek doesn’t even dream of correcting that assumption. “I understand you have denied entrance to one of my students.” The usher looks like Essek’s tone just gave him frostbite, which was precisely the intended effect. “I hope you have a valid reason to keep him from attending this conference. Mr. Widogast is a brilliant student and his support animal is very well-behaved.”

Instead of giving in to the impulse of pushing back, the usher deflates. “I’m sorry, Dr. Thelyss, it was a misunderstanding. Lacking the proper documentation…”

“I vouch for the both of them.” Essek arches an eyebrow. “Or I can bring up the matter to the board’s attention? I believe Dr. Kryn has a meeting with them tomorrow.”

“There’s no need to do that,” the man assures him hurriedly.

Satisfied, Essek nods. He turns around to look at Widogast, who’s still under the lamppost but has stood up, the cat’s head now poking out of his battered satchel. He walks briskly towards the door as soon as Essek tilts his head meaningfully.

As they walk inside, Essek knows that this will be talked about. But let them speculate. If they asked him why he did it, he would have a perfectly rational and selfish explanation, which doesn’t include the fact that he might one day get to pet the cat.

Widogast’s voice makes him turn his head towards him. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that… Essek.” He seems worried, as if he expects Essek to change his mind. It doesn’t take much insight to see that he’s not someone who’s accustomed to people being kind to him.

Well, in any case, Essek didn’t act out of kindness. “Remember it. There may be a time where I need to call a favor back in.” His tone is even drier than usual.

They don’t sit together. There would be no reason to. The lecture hall is not crowded but a few dozen people are there, and it’s easy to lose track of one another. Besides, Essek will need to slip out before the whole thing is over, to stretch his legs. Today’s been a good day, but he knows better than pushing his luck too far.

An hour later, he steps out into the night. The air is even colder than before, and he hunches his shoulders in an instinctive attempt to conserve body heat, tucking his nose into the scarf he hurriedly wrapped around his neck. The interesting part of the conference is over, anyway, and he’d rather avoid listening to questions that will either be too boring or inevitably reference the latest inter-university drama, something he already has to deal with in every conversation with Dr. Kryn.

He knows he’s not in a position to complain, since he involuntarily started this particular war, but he’s determined to stay as far from the front line as he can. His research and his future depend on him never getting caught.

He doesn’t notice he’s not alone until someone clears his throat behind him. He turns around to see Widogast standing behind him. Instead of a scarf, he has his cat draped around his neck.

“I’ve honestly never seen such a well-behaved cat,” Essek says truthfully.

Widogast hides his shy smile in his cat’s fur. “He’s sweet and smart.” He hesitates, fidgets. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I hadn’t realized you were also leaving early.”

Essek starts to fabricate an excuse, but then he thinks he doesn’t have to explain himself. “Which way are you going?”

Widogast points to his left, towards the campus gate and Essek’s dormitory. Essek gestures at him to lead the way and they start walking together in the same direction.

Which, he realizes quickly, may have been a mistake. Small talk has never been his strong suit. How does one do that again? “Did you enjoy the conference?”

Instead of the polite answer he expects, Widogast makes a noncommittal sound. “I wasn’t expecting the ground to break, and at least my expectations were met.”

Essek can’t help but chuckle, both at the sentiment and at its phrasing. Widogast’s soft accent and calm delivery are strangely pleasant to the ear. “You’re not from around here, am I correct?”

“Ah… no. I chose to apply for a scholarship that would allow me to leave my old life behind, so to speak.”

Interesting. Essek would ask him more about that, in an effort to keep the conversation going, but Widogast’s tone is enough to clue him in about the sensitive nature of that subject. “So, you’re on a scholarship,” he says instead.

“That was clear, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” A simple answer to a simple question, but Essek blinks when Widogast reacts with the self-deprecating laugh that Essek’s starting to associate with him.

He risks a glance, taking in the unkempt hair, the ordinary, functional clothes, the absence of a coat, the support animal he apparently doesn’t have any paperwork to justify. All these details put together should paint a clear picture, but Essek has never paid enough attention before. He stubbornly ignores the burning sensation in his cheeks. “I just meant that scholarships can be demanding, and it’s perfectly understandable to be stressed about one’s grades.” He steals another glance at the man walking beside him, but Widogast’s bowed head and enigmatic smile tell him nothing.

“What about you?” Widogast reaches up to scratch his cat under his chin. “You look very young to be a teacher. I hope you don’t mind me saying it,” he adds. “I actually admire your… Well, you’re brilliant.”

Despite the embarrassment, he seems genuine and Essek can’t help but preen under the compliment. “I’m the youngest teaching assistant the head of the Physics Department has ever appointed.” He sighs. “Which is part of the reason I was assigned the graveyard shift.”

“What’s the other part?”

The thing is, Widogast seems really interested. This conversation is turning more personal than Essek’s comfortable with, but, to his surprise, he finds himself answering. “Teaching experience is more or less required of me,” he says, pondering each word carefully. “It’s not a chore, when my students are committed and motivated.”

“So you pick an obscure subject and an inconvenient time.” Widogast’s wry smile is contagious, and Essek finds himself mirroring it.

“Precisely,” he says, just as they reach the entryway to the dorms. Essek steps forward and holds the door open, but Widogast doesn’t follow him. “Are you coming in?”

Widogast shakes his head. “Oh, no, I do not reside on campus. I’m sharing a place in town with some housemates.”

Essek knows that sometimes students are housed independently when the dorms are overcrowded, and he also knows that some students prefer the autonomy of a flat share. He would love to have his own place, just as much as he would appreciate it if his mobility issues disappeared overnight. “Drive safe, then” he tells Widogast. “There’s bound to be ice on the streets tonight.”

Widogast shakes his head again. “I don’t have a car.”

Essek frowns. “But there’s no public transport, this late.” Then it dawns on him. “You’re going to _walk_ all the way to town?” He watches Widogast shrug, as if walking at least a mile in the cold on a badly lit road were in any way, shape or form reasonable. He sighs. What is he getting himself into? “Wait for me here. I’m going to take my keys.”

*

Essek expects Widogast to decline, can almost hear the words. And, truth be told, the man looks as surprised as Essek is by his offer.

He hesitates, scratching his cat as he considers it. “If it’s not an inconvenience for you.”

 _I wouldn’t have offered if it was_ , Essek thinks now, with vague surprise. Of course he would have loved to get out of the cold and into his room, but the thought of keeping the conversation going was slightly more appealing. Truth be told, he doesn’t remember the last time someone seemed genuinely interested in him as a person.

That’s something to overanalyze later, though. Now he needs to focus on the road, as the street lights and the neon signs cast their multicoloured glow into the dark cabin of his car. According to the dashboard, it’s 26°F.

The silence is not uncomfortable, precisely, but it’s so rare to be with someone who is smart and not completely intimidated by or fed up with Essek that letting the occasion go to waste seems unforgivable.

On the other hand, it’s very late and he’s sure Widogast is as tired as he is, if not more.

“What’s his name?” is the question Essek eventually settles on.

He realizes after he’s spoken the words that he could have been clearer. But Widogast doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s Frumpkin.” Hearing his name, the cat chirps from his owner’s lap. “I’m sorry I snuck him in so often during class — turn left at the next intersection. I didn’t know you knew about him.”

Essek puts the blinker on before the turn. He’s not very familiar with this part of the city. His family’s estate is on the outskirts, almost in the countryside, and he never went around much before relocating to the university. He didn’t expect downtown to be this populated and bustling on a freezing weeknight. “I do have eyes, and I’m not stupid.”

Widogast chuckles. “You are quite right.”

The silence stretches for a moment between them, comfortable and peaceful like a dozing animal.

Caleb’s voice is soft in the quiet. “So, dark matter is your area of expertise.”

“I didn’t pick it as a teaching subject just because it was convenient. I think it’s fascinating. Something’s there, unseen and largely unknown, but still real. It explains how the entire universe behaves, but it’s unexplained in itself.” Essek realizes he’s lecturing and he stops. “Of course, my daily routine consists of parsing through radio telescopes data. Not very exciting.”

“You are literally investigating the mysteries of the universe.” To his surprise, Widogast’s voice is incredulous, almost affronted. “You are closer to the stars than anyone on this planet. So _ja_ , I would say that’s exciting. Take the next turn to the right.”

Following his directions, Essek pulls over in front of a Victorian row house roughly in the middle of a short residential lane. The street is quaint and quiet and the house looks old and distinguished, not what Essek would have expected from a students’ accommodation.

With his hand on the door handle, Widogast hesitates. “It was very kind of you to go out of your way for me.”

Essek looks at the darkness out of the windshield. “I’ve already graded your last paper. It would be a shame if you died of exposure now.”

Widogast chuckles and picks up his cat. “Good night, Essek.”

He just nods, waiting for him to close the car door behind him to whisper: “Good night, Caleb.”

*

Becoming assistant to the Head of Department is more an aftereffect than an intended choice, but Essek has never complained. Being Dr. Leylas Kryn's right-hand man comes with its advantages, even though it sometimes means he’s subject to… unpleasant personal interactions.

Squirming on her chair, the student before him gives him a pleading look. “Are you sure Dr. Kryn isn’t available?” she asks for the third time.

Essek takes a deep breath and crosses his legs. There are so many more useful and interesting things he could be doing right now, rather than covering Dr. Kryn’s office hours. He vows that he’ll never compare sorting out data from radio telescopes to watching paint dry ever again. “As I’ve already told you, Dr. Kryn is very busy.”

To be precise, Dr. Kryn is arguing budget details in a remote board meeting in her office. Essek _could_ bother her, since it’s very unlikely that the Physics department will receive more funding than it already has, but he’d rather avoid any meeting where there’s a concrete chance of the ‘war’ being brought up.

“I speak for her. But the issue seems pretty clear cut to me.”

The student — Essek didn’t catch her name and he doesn’t care enough to ask for it again — looks at him with her eyes enormous. “Do you mean you can give me an extension? I swear I’m almost there, the data almost fits the model. I just need a little more time.”

“No, you don’t,” Essek says, calmly.

She frowns and opens her mouth, no doubt to protest or ask for an explanation, so he speaks over her.

“I’m just saving us both some precious time. What you should do right now is choose a… less challenging academic path.”

Comprehension finally appears on her face. Good. Better late than never. “But… I’ve been working on my dissertation for two years.”

“I assure you, if there’s going to ever be a breakthrough in the field of quantum gravity, you’re not the one who’s going to make it.” That’s true. They both know it. More brilliant scientists than him have been trying to combine gravitational theory with quantum mechanics for decades and they’ve only developed highly questionable and largely unprovable theories and speculations.

He doesn’t flinch when the student flees Dr. Kryn’s office in tears. It’s not the first time and it won’t certainly be the last.

*

The next time Essek walks into room 9, he acknowledges Widogast’s presence with a nod before even realizing what he’s doing. He curses mentally. It would be too much to hope nobody has noticed it.

But, to his surprise, nobody indeed remarks on it. Small blessings. “Dark energy,” he says while he shrugs off his coat.

He usually starts his lessons this way, and the students have quickly caught up: the scrambling for notebooks and pens of the first day has been replaced by six hands ready to start taking notes before he puts down his briefcase.

And that’s precisely how he likes it.

This, however, is not a good day. He was studying in the Math/Physics/Astronomy library when his phone pinged with a LIGO-Virgo notification for a possible black hole-neutron star merger resulting in a run to the Physics department. By the time he got there, it had become clear it was a false alarm. Which means that his right ankle is determined to make him pay for essentially no reason.

He could overcompensate with the left one, but this short-term solution will likely turn into a bigger problem later. He couldn’t foresee any of this, though, so he didn’t print handouts and he needs to use the blackboard to illustrate his point. Left ankle it is.

When he’s done writing, he turns towards his predictably perplexed students. He bets at least half of them has a t-shirt with _E = mc_ _2_ printed on it, possibly more. Not exactly ground-breaking.

Essek leans casually on the desk. “You don’t need me to explain what this equation means, I hope. Look at it. What does it tell us?” It’s a rhetorical question, so he doesn’t wait for an answer. “Mass and energy differ only by a constant. So, if we add up all the energy in the universe and all the matter, they should account for a hundred percent of what exists in our universe. Can you guess how much of that percentage is occupied by matter?”

That _is_ a real question, even if he doesn’t really expect any of them to know the answer, based on the results of their tests the week before.

Finally, a voice from the back of the class breaks the silence. “Fifty percent?”

“Thirty, give or take.” He walks up to the blackboard once again to write out that number. “Dark matter accounts for a little more than twenty-five percent of that. The remaining seventy percent…” He keeps writing as he talks. “… is an unseen, unmeasurable force that makes the universe behave the way it does, and that we call dark energy.” He draws a circle around the _5_. “This is what we actually know of the universe. A little less than five percent.”

At the end of the lesson, he’s so exhausted he could fall asleep on the desk. He sits somewhat unceremoniously back on the uncomfortable wooden chair, resting for a bit before walking back to the dorm. Covering the distance is a daunting task, but his medications await on the other side and there will be consequences if he forgoes them too often.

It takes him a moment to notice that Widogast has stayed behind. There’s no cat today. “Could I bother you for a moment?”

Essek is sorely tempted to say no, but he doesn’t.

Taking his silence for the reluctant invitation it is, Widogast continues. “I… realized I’ve perhaps been too ambitious when I picked this course. The subject is fascinating, but with my workload… It may be too much for me.”

The first retort that comes to Essek’s mind — a sharp, honest agreement — dies before it reaches his lips. They both know that Widogast underperformed in last week’s preliminary test, to put it mildly. But it takes courage to recognise one’s limits, and Essek has taught enough people to recognize the smart and ambitious ones. And it’s not Widogast’s fault if the school system has failed him, after all.

“There’s no gap that can’t be bridged with some effort and a quick mind.” Essek opens his mouth to go on, then he closes it.

 _Good luck_ , he should add. He can hear himself dismissing him, maybe offering to email him a selection of books and articles he should read to catch on. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t…" _...have time to waste,_ is how the sentence would normally end. “...have regular office hours,” he says instead, slowly. “But I could take some time to answer your questions, go over some things. Make sure you don’t fall too much behind.”

The smile that brightens Widogast’s face has no business being this charming. “I would be very grateful for that.”

Essek waves his gratitude away as he tries to stand up without angering his limbs too much.

*

Nobody’s more surprised than Essek when their tutoring sessions stubbornly refuse to feel like a chore.

He insists early on they aren't private lessons. “These are the foundations of what I’m covering in class,” he specifies. “Some feedback is helpful. It’s never good to live in an echo chamber, academically speaking.” He sees the hypocrisy in his own words, since he’s been building his own impenetrable echo chamber since he was a teenager, but he ignores it. Homeschooling would do that to you, and all the study groups he tried to join only slowed him down.

This, though, is helpful for the both of them. He’s pleasantly surprised to see that this risk paid off. Studying with Widogast is engaging: he pushes Essek forward instead of dragging him back.

Combining their calendars proves challenging, especially once exams and deadlines start to pile up for the both of them. So, instead of settling on a routine, they play it by ear. They usually meet in a study room on the first floor of the Physics building, occupying what soon becomes their table. After a couple of sessions, it becomes clear to Essek that Widogast spends all his time studying and reading and catching up on subjects. What he lacks in knowledge he makes up for in determination, and it seems that Essek’s cut-and-dried way of explaining things, far from discouraging him, urges him to ask more questions.

A few times they have dinner together in the dining hall after class and they go back to the study room until it closes, at midnight. When it happens, Essek insists on driving Widogast home. The second time, there’s a small welcoming party on the front steps.

“Thank you for bringing my son home safely, young man,” a loud, small woman tells him, impervious to Widogast’s attempts to shush her up, reminding her that it’s the middle of the night. It’s too far for Essek to see what she looks like, but by the familiarity with which Caleb puts his arm on her shoulder, it’s clear that they’re close.

(“She’s not really my mother, of course,” he will explain at lunch a few days later — another case of their schedules overlapping at the oddest times. “Veth and I met in a… ah, challenging time in our lives.”

“I understand,” says Essek, who actually doesn’t. “Tragedy unites people, no?”

His guess is rewarded with a rare smile, a prize in itself. “ _Ja._ ”)

“Yeah, thank you,” says another woman who looks quite underdressed for the season. Her tone is more provocative than grateful, and her eyes are piercing despite the distance. Essek instantly knows he’ll need to be careful around this one.

His discomfort eases a little when Widogast, after speaking to her in a voice too low for Essek to hear, turns around and waves sheepishly at him.

In fact, another thing Essek discovers quickly is that spending time with Widogast also means entering the orbit of his friends. Maybe he was projecting, but he didn’t expect his student to have a large social circle. That’s why he’s taken aback when a third person other than the two housemates Essek has already met interrupts their study session, cheerfully yelling “Caleb!” in the middle of the study room, and clasping her hands on her mouth when she’s shushed by three different people.

She tiptoes her way to their table, even if the amount of knick-knacks and colourful jewellery she’s wearing still makes her noisy. Essek quickly learns her name — Jester, quite appropriately — and several other details he forgets as soon as he hears them.

“Sorry to interrupt your study date,” she tells Widogast, who turns an interesting shade of purple at the word ‘date’. Judging from Jester’s expression, it’s the intended effect. “But Caduceus is making pizza tonight and you want to come home early or you won’t find any.”

As Caleb sighs and asks Essek if he minds interrupting their study session early, Essek tries to wrap his head around the concept of _four_ housemates. “Not at all. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, Widogast.”

“Caleb,” he says after a moment. He smiles unconvincingly. “If you’re Essek outside the classroom, then I’m Caleb.”

“Aww!” Jester looks from Caleb to Essek with the same fond expression, as if Essek was an old friend of hers and not someone she’s just met. “You can come over too, if you want!”

“I’m afraid I have a previous engagement.” He doesn’t particularly care if the lie is convincing or not. The last thing he wants is to spend his evening around a table with some strangers.

The next time they’re interrupted, the study room is mercifully empty, except for a couple of sophomores who are chatting over their closed books. The same belligerent woman who thanked him for bringing Caleb home a few weeks prior struts in like she owns the place. “It’s late, man. Is this your hot professor?”

Essek looks at her. She’s in her twenties, of the athletic persuasion, judging from the cerulean tracksuit she’s wearing, and also impervious to the freezing temperatures outside, since the open jacket reveals a form-fitting tank top that’s just short enough to leave her midriff uncovered. Her glare is disturbingly frank, and Essek does his best to avoid blinking, just in case, as he takes his reading glasses off and looks at her coldly. “I’m not a professor.”

Ignoring him, she turns towards Caleb. “Don’t ever read the group chat, Caleb? It’s not like we’re worried about you and your whereabouts or anything.”

On his part, Caleb is studiously avoiding looking at either of them, shoving books and notebooks in his satchel, his scarf loose on his neck. “I just lost track of time, Beauregard.”

‘Beauregard’ arches an expressive eyebrow and looks back at Essek, speaking to him for the first time. “He’s cool. We just need to make sure he sleeps and eats, sometimes.”

Essek, who wonders if he’s included in that ‘we’, nods. “It’s good to know he has friends who take care of him.” He frowns. Why does this suddenly feel like a parents-teachers conference?

Caleb rolls his eyes as he walks up to them. “Well, thank you for putting up with me for so long, Essek. See you tomorrow, _ja_?”

“Of course. Have a good night, Caleb, Beauregard.”

The latter looks at him a while longer, then apparently reaches a conclusion and nods. “You too.”

Somehow, Caleb’s housemates all seem to know where Caleb is most of the time, a development Essek hadn’t foreseen. He finds them loud and he’s glad he doesn’t have to interact with them more than it’s strictly necessary, but he means what he told Beauregard: it’s good that Caleb has friends.

One day, Jester comes to pick up Caleb earlier than usual. It’s already dark outside, but these days the sun goes down at five, so Essek has to check his watch to make sure that they’ve not accidentally skipped dinner (again).

Despite being perhaps the most openly extroverted of Caleb’s group of friends, Jester is quickly becoming Essek’s favourite. He doesn’t think many people see the whip-smart brain beneath the candyfloss exterior, and he knows that Jester takes advantage of it. He respects that. Plus, once you look past the dick jokes, she’s not bad to have around.

For short periods of time.

After greeting them both, she launches into a flurry of whispered, high-speed anecdotes and non-sequiturs, and something about someone’s swimming competition.

Essek only half listens, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on his face when Caleb closes his book and stretches, clearly preparing to leave. _How very predictable_ , Essek thinks as he watches them walk away, refusing with every ounce of stubbornness to feel sorry for himself because he’s being left alone.

This is a recent development, too. These study sessions turned out to be not so much a disruption, but something that fills up an empty space he didn’t even notice was there. He finds himself resenting Caleb’s friends a little when they come around to steal him (‘steal’, as if he were _his_ ), and at the same time welcoming the casual friendliness they extend to him, even if they don’t know anything about him or his accomplishments.

He’s very determined to not appear forlorn as Caleb and Jester walk away without saying goodbye. He wonders if _he_ should say it to them, or if it wouldn’t make him look even more pathetic, a grown-up man still struggling with these things. But, because he’s only human, he keeps looking at their backs as they go.

This is how Caleb finds him when he turns around and looks at Essek, stopping in his tracks.

Essek blinks, taken aback, but he otherwise doesn’t react. He doesn’t know how to.

Feeling the absence of Caleb at her side, Jester turns as well and seems surprised to see him still seated. “Are you coming, Essek?”

 _Oh._ “Of course,” he says after a long moment, as if it were his intention from the beginning.

*

“We’re gonna be late! Come on, come on.” Jester pushes them both towards the swimming pool entrance.

Essek has never set foot in this place, and he’s surprised when the first comparison that pops into his mind is with a church. Maybe it’s the way the voices echo against the barrel roof, or the strong chlorine smell reminding him of incense. 

It’s also much warmer than he expected, though in retrospect he should have been prepared. On the other side of the spectator area, several people are going around in various degrees of undress, stretching, bouncing on their feet or chatting as they get ready for the competition to start.

“There’s Fjord!” Jester runs past them to greet her friend.

Following her with his eyes, Essek sees a young man their age who greets Jester back and starts talking to her. The swimsuit he’s wearing shows off his lean, muscular physique.

It’s a testament to how much he feels out of his element that Essek speaks without thinking. “Well.”

He instantly hopes the ground would open and swallow him before Caleb catches on. He does his best to pretend nothing happened, hoping Caleb would do him the same favour, but he laughs. “Well indeed.” He scoffs at Essek’s reproachful look. “What? You started it.”

Essek looks away. Usually, words slide off him and do no harm. Thick skin wasn’t an optional requirement growing up in his house, and it has served him well in academia, too. “If I could take it back, I would,” he admits. “I’m not even… Ah, that’s a conversation for another time.”

“Sure,” Caleb agrees, in a tone that says the opposite.

After Caleb says hello to his friend, he joins Essek. There’s still a lot of empty space on the bleachers: Jester’s fear that they were going to be late has proven largely unfounded.

“So, you’re not even…” Caleb starts as soon as he’s seated.

Essek sighs. The only way out is through, apparently. “I’m not generally… interested,” he says, with a helpless gesture that does nothing to clarify his point. “But, ah, I still have eyes and I may engage in the occasional aesthetic appreciation.”

Caleb nods in the periphery of Essek’s vision. “But you don’t act on it. Generally.”

“No.” Essek is determined to talk to his feet. “Not often, in any case. Mostly, I do not have the time.”

Caleb chuckles, but it doesn’t sound like he’s mocking him. It never does, now that Essek thinks about it. He doesn’t know how he can tell, but he can. If anything, Caleb seems… sympathetic.

“It’s true,” he reiterates. “It’s not a priority.”

“No, I understand.”

Essek is suddenly caught by the urge to know just how well Caleb understands. “What about you?”

And it’s worth it, because Caleb blushing is always a fetching, fascinating show. “Oh. Well, I do have the, um… inclination? All of them, so to speak. But, lacking the occasion as well, it’s… it’s been a while.”

Great. What is Essek supposed to do with this information, now?

He’s saved from answering by the most unlikely of the deus ex machinas. “Hey, losers. What are you up to?” asks Beauregard, abrasive as ever, flopping down in a seat behind them.

“Nothing much,” Caleb deadpans. “Just objectifying our dear friend Fjord, over there.”

 _Oh, dear_ , Essek thinks.

But Beau’s answer is a coarse laugh. “Go on, then, don’t let me stop you.”

When the competition starts, Essek finds himself less absorbed in who’s winning than in reliving the conversation he’s just had with Caleb. What he told him was true, and it’s the most he’s ever talked about these personal matters with anyone. God, he’s never even _thought_ about them this much. And it happened in the context of a casual conversation in a swimming pool, surrounded by people. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing here.

Before his thoughts can spiral, however, the competition is over and he can excuse himself without looking impolite. “Please, extend my congratulations to your friend,” he tells Caleb.

Instead of insisting he come along, Caleb nods. “See you soon, then. Have a nice evening, my friend.”

 _Friend._ The word echoes in Essek’s head as he wraps himself up in his coat and scarf and he starts to make his way out of the swimming pool.

Suddenly, a hand grabs his. “Essek! Were you going away without saying goodbye?”

Since that’s exactly what he was going to do, he starts to put together a generic apology, but Jester doesn’t even let him.

“It was nice to have you here today. You know, it would be better if _you_ came around to our place for your study sessions with Caleb, sometimes. You could even stay the night, so you wouldn’t have to drive back in the dark.” She punctuates this last sentence with a beatific smile, and anyone could be forgiven if they missed the joyous mischievousness underneath.

This is just the tip of the iceberg of innuendos he’s going to be subjected to if he accepts this invitation, but outright refusing it would be a tactical mistake, because Jester would just double down. “I will think about it.”

He’s starting to think he just made it out unscathed, when, without breaking eye contact, Jester opens her arms. The silence stretches and Essek seriously considers walking away, especially since Caleb is looking at them with a barely concealed smile on his lips. _Friends_ , Essek thinks, with something like resignation.

He leans forward and gingerly puts his arms around her shoulders.

When he steps back, Jester is looking at him like he’s passed another test. This is starting to get unnerving, but for some reason Essek isn’t worried as he maybe should be.

*

In the end, he doesn’t go over to their house the next day, nor the one after it.

His own carelessness, along with the stress due to the end-of-semester exams, finally catches up with him in the middle of the night, when he wakes up to hot nails perforating his joints, or so it feels. When he steels himself and manages to sit up, fighting off a wave of nausea, he predictably finds that his ankles and knees are swollen.

As he fights the tears back, he knows he’s got only himself to blame. Has he set multiple reminders to take all his meds on time? Sure. Has he turned them off and then forgot to do what they were meant for? More than once.

What was he doing at the time that required his complete attention and couldn’t be interrupted? He doesn’t remember.

The small freezer he keeps some of his medication and the ice packs in is within reach from the bed for a reason. He takes his anti-inflammatories with a gulp of stale water from the glass on the nightstand and he flops back down, trying to think about something that’s not the pain.

He must fall back asleep for a while, because he dreams about Dr. Kryn inviting him to dinner and him showing up in his underwear in front of the entire board, and a few members of the Academy are also there, asking him why he stopped sending reports, when he’s woken up by his alarm buzzing.

Drowsily, he picks it up from the nightstand, knocking something on the floor — probably the reading glasses he left there the night before — in the process and shutting it off. 

Some time later, the alarm buzzes again and he groans. By now, the pain has dimmed to reasonable levels and he thinks he can compose an email to excuse himself from his daily engagements. Before he can open the mail app, though, he realizes that it wasn’t the alarm that woke him up, but a flurry of texts from an unknown number.

> _Essek!!  
>  _ _I know it’s a big favor to ask but  
>  _ _I really need a lift home later tonight  
>  _ _(Not hiding anything! Absolutely no surprise dinner waiting for you!)  
>  _ _Could you??  
>  _ _Caleb said it was okay to ask!  
>  _ _This is Jester btw!!_

He takes a deep breath in and draws it out. Even half asleep and in pain, he can recognize a barely disguised ploy to invite him to dinner when he sees one.

> _I’m afraid I cannot today, Jester._

He can’t tell Jester he’s sick or anything like that, or he would risk finding her at his doorstep with chicken soup or something. He thinks about adding something like _Best of luck with your endeavors_ , but he’s afraid it would be read as an encouragement.

After he’s written all the emails he needed to write, he lays back down, staring at the ceiling. The low buzz of the heating system and a few voices in the corridor are the only sounds he hears besides his breathing. He’s suddenly very aware that, even if the office of housing made an exception because of his condition and his surname, this room is meant for two people. Yes, his life may be hard under a certain point of view, but all the rules he’s broken with impunity, all the privilege he didn’t ask for but took it anyway? Maybe the scales are even.

It’s better this way, he thinks. Better than feeling sorry for himself.

*

It will take him a few days to be in decent shape again, but he feels good enough to walk to class the next evening. There are only two lessons left before the final test and he needs his students to be as prepared as they can be. Grading is enough of an ordeal as it is.

Just to be safe, he leaves a little earlier than usual, so he’s not surprised to find the halls of the Physics building more crowded than he’s used to. The person he doesn’t expect to see here is Beauregard, who looks in the middle of a discussion with Caleb.

They’re in front of room 9’s door and he doesn’t have any choice but to interrupt their conversation, if he wants to get inside. But he stops in his tracks when he hears Caleb’s voice. He sounds angry.

With sudden certainty, Essek feels that he’s not meant to hear this conversation. He should go away, but his feet are rooted to the spot.

“For the last time, I’m not asking him. The whole point of moving here was to forget about the Academy.”

Now, Essek is certain he must have misheard. His life is made of grey areas, but he’s good at compartmentalizing. That’s how people like him survive, in academia and in the outside world.

Caleb and the Soltryce Academy occupy two very separated spaces and they need to be kept that way.

He’s so shocked that he almost misses Beauregard’s answer. “Yeah, but what if he knows something?”

“Just because he’s Kryn’s assistant doesn’t mean he’s in on this… academic war they’re waging. I don’t think he knows anything.”

“I’m just saying the most reasonable explanation is that someone from this university is leaking information to the Academy, and maybe he has heard something. He has more contacts than _we_ have, and if I can help Professor Dairon to expose whatever’s going on between the university and the Academy…”

Still unnoticed, Essek watches Caleb shake his head. “If you’re this desperate for credits, ask him yourself.”

She scoffs. “Oh, sure, because he’s going to trust _me_ with the information. I’m not the one he’s sweet on.”

Caleb looks as disbelieving as Essek feels. “Shut up, Beauregard.”

There are a lot of questions in Essek’s head, but none that can be answered right now, short of walking up to the two of them and asking for an explanation. Which he can’t do without exposing himself as the one who’s leaking confidential information from Rosohna University to the Soltryce Academy.

*

That night and the day after, their conversation plays in Essek’s mind over and over. He walked away unnoticed, letting Beauregard leave without seeing him. Caleb was already in the classroom when Essek sat down behind his desk, announcing that they were going to have a test simulation.

Most of all, it’s unpleasant. He has a quick mind, used to make quick decisions, and this endless ruminating is as uncomfortable as it is pointless. He notices it starts to interfere with his job and his research, draining his focus, but he doesn’t know what to do.

He would like to find out what Beauregard knows about the Assembly, why she’s interested in it, what Caleb has to do with all this. It could jeopardize everything Essek’s worked so hard to put together. His entire life would be unraveled.

But, when he finally gives in and searches Caleb’s name online, there doesn't appear to be any connection between him and the Academy. This news is not reassuring as it should be. After a moment’s hesitation, he logs in with his teaching credentials and finds out that Beauregard Lionett is graduating as a Journalism student, and Professor Dairon is her mentor. The latter is a visiting professor and has an impeccable curriculum and several prizes for investigative journalism under their belt. Nothing is a coincidence. 

The wisest thing to do would be, of course, cutting all ties with Caleb and his friends as soon as he can do so without arousing suspicion. Soon he won’t be Caleb’s teacher anymore. And yet, on the last days of class, when the last of his students hands in their test and a reluctant spokesperson sheepishly asks him if he wants to join them for dinner and some drinks, he doesn’t say no.

It is Caleb, though, the one who shakes his head. “I have to take Frumpkin home,” he says as he holds the cat’s little furry head over his shoulder. Behind his back, a couple of classmates are making faces at the creature.

“I could give you a ride home,” Essek suggests, before adding, “and whoever else needs it. Within reason,” he specifies, glaring at the interested glances he finds himself subjected to. “No more than four people.”

In the end, there are seven people in his car, himself included, and a cat. He’s going to get in trouble, he knows it.

His experience of Rosohna’s nightlife is nonexistent, so he lets someone savvier than him pick a place after they’ve left Frumpkin in the care of Caleb’s housemates. If it turns out to be too loud or too crowded or simply too much, he will just leave.

But the brewery they choose is cozy and relatively quiet, and the server doesn’t look weirdly at him when he orders water along with his food. Alcohol and medications are not friends.

He doesn’t even notice that Caleb is seated right in front of him until Essek stretches his legs and invades his space, but Caleb smiles his apology away. The music is not very loud but they still have to shout to make conversation, so Essek mostly listens and, once the spirits are emboldened by the alcohol, answers a few questions in the vaguest way possible.

At some point, Caleb motions for him to come closer. “Are you all right?” he asks him, speaking almost in his ear.

Essek leans back to look at him. Their faces are so close he can feel the heat radiating from Caleb. That’s something he has noticed over and over again: Caleb is always warm. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“When you told Jester you were indisposed. Was that just an excuse?”

The answer to that is so complicated that Essek shakes his head. “I will explain. But not here.”

Caleb tilts his head in a _fine-have-it-your-way_ motion, then he flicks his fingers, asking him to come closer again, so that the rest of the company — who is cacophonously discussing something called anime — won’t hear them. “Do you know there’s an ongoing bet about your age?”

Essek pulls back to look at him in disbelief. “What?”

Laughing, Caleb brings their heads close again. “Some say you look too young to be graduating already. Others say it’s just the hair.”

Essek snorts in a manner that would be undignified if people could actually hear him, resisting the urge to touch his white side sweep.

“You never heard this from me, obviously,” Caleb specifies, as if he didn’t tell him about the bet two inches away from his classmates, “but I thought you might appreciate the… fuckery potential of all this.”

Essek grins despite himself. “You should have told me sooner.”

Caleb shrugs and, when he pulls back to take a sip of his beer, he’s smiling. “I guess you have to make tonight count.”

“You are a wicked man, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb shrugs modestly. “I do my worst.”

*

In the end, a few of them are so drunk that, by the time he takes his leave, Essek has convinced at least two people that he really is a hundred and twenty years old.

He, on the other hand, is painfully sober. As he wraps his scarf around his neck, it doesn’t escape him that Caleb is doing the same. He doesn’t comment on it, and if someone notices them leaving together, they don’t, either.

In the sudden quiet outside the brewery, his ears are ringing. Beside him, Caleb takes a deep breath.

“I like the cold,” he says. “Reminds me of home.”

It could be a good opening. _Do you miss the Empire? The Soltryce Academy has a great Physics department. Why come all the way to Rosohna?_ “Come, I’m taking you home,” he says instead, walking towards his car.

He’s not worried about his other students. This is definitely not their first rodeo and they’ll find a way to get back to their beds, or someone else’s, at the end of the night. But he knows for a fact that Caleb doesn’t drink and fool around in his free time, mainly because he spends a large part of the aforementioned free time with Essek.

Or he used to. Now that his classes are over, Essek doesn’t have the excuse of tutoring him anymore.

Not that tutoring was an excuse to begin with.

It’s a quiet car ride, and the silence becomes even deeper once Essek pulls over and turns the engine off. Caleb doesn’t move. He’s not sleeping: his eyes are open, his irises almost transparent, as he looks out of the windshield.

“You were different, tonight,” Caleb observes.

The observation is sudden and unprompted and probably alcohol-induced, but Essek considers his answer carefully. “I didn’t feel different.”

“Yes, but… usually, when you’re around people, you look… lethal.”

Essek has a vivid flashback of his childhood, when his mother told him off for refusing to socialize with other kids, preferring to spend all his time reading or exploring the estate’s grounds with his brother. _People are useful, Essek. And nobody’s irreplaceable._ But Essek preferred to be left alone, feeling he was too smart and important to waste his time with other people who didn’t understand. It’s a small epiphany to realize that he has unconsciously followed his mother’s advice all this time.

He doesn’t want to think about that, so he deflects, as usual. “It’s just the way academia works.”

His weak attempt at humor goes unremarked as Caleb turns towards him, pinning Essek to his seat with the sheer intensity in his eyes. “I need you, Essek.”

For a frightening, long instant, every coherent thought leaves Essek’s mind. Time stops, then starts to unfold again at double speed as he falls into a panic, trying to find the right words as a part of him tries to push him towards the reckless option instead, towards _Caleb_.

No, it’s too risky. It could compromise everything. His research. He’s nothing without it.

His head is spinning as he regains control of himself and clears his throat. “Caleb, I’m very flattered, but until the end of the semester I’m still officially your teacher.”

He thinks he did a good job of stating the facts, of being rational and convincing, so he doesn’t know how to interpret Caleb’s confused frown. “I mean… I’m afraid I’ve lost the habit of studying alone. Even if you’re not tutoring me, could we still meet like we used to?”

Mortification is a strange, powerful feeling, and the only thought that keeps Essek from leaving his own car and going back to the dorms on foot is that there’s a solid chance Caleb won’t remember this conversation. “Of course,” he says, pushing the words around his heart, which has somehow climbed its way into his throat.

Caleb exhales, visibly relaxing. “Thank you.”

When he leaves, Essek waits for him to get inside and close the door behind him before driving back to campus. There’s another conversation replaying obsessively in his head, now, and the worry that he showed his hand too much.

*

“I really thought I was going to fail this class,” Caleb admits, looking incredulously at the B+ at the top of his test.

He’s standing next to Essek’s desk in the assistants’ room. These past few days, Essek has summoned his students one by one to hand them back their tests, discuss their grades and answer their questions. He pretended he didn’t notice the curious looks his colleagues shot one another, tossing words like ‘more humane’ and ‘is he alright?’ behind his back when they thought he couldn’t hear them.

He left Caleb for last, not because Essek needs to prove a point or because he still feels his soul trying to leave his body when he thinks about the misunderstanding in the car. Caleb hasn’t mentioned it, and he’s certainly never going to bring it up.

“Why?” Essek asks him. “You’re perhaps the hardest working student I’ve ever had.”

“I don’t perform well under pressure. I have a…” Caleb tilts his head, trying to find the right words. “… history of flunking my tests. I guess I was just fearing that this history was going to repeat itself.”

They start discussing what Caleb got right and which answers needed to be more precise or detailed, and they soon fall into a pattern that Essek realizes he’s missed, even if they haven’t seen each other for just a few days.

They walk out and down the hall, still talking, and when Caleb mentions that he wants to follow a course on loop quantum gravity next semester, so Essek mentions a _Science_ article from a few months ago he would find interesting, and he thinks he has a copy of the magazine to give Caleb, and before he realizes it, Caleb is following him into his dorm room.

As a scientist, Essek finds the concept of parallel universes interesting but unlikely to be supported by concrete evidence. Right now, though, he envies the hypothetical version of himself that made better life choices.

He makes a beeline towards the neat stack of magazines on the lower shelf of one of his bookcases, hoping to find what he’s looking for quickly and to remove himself from this situation.

“Essek.”

Essek looks up. He’s not used to hearing his name called like this. With bewilderment and admiration.

But it’s not him that Caleb is looking at: he’s at the center of the room, looking at the twin bookcases that cover an entire wall from floor to ceiling.

Essek tries to think about how his room looks to someone who’s never been in it before. Between the bookcases sits a small brass model of the solar system. The bed’s headboard is pushed against the wall under the large window, and the rest of that wall is occupied by a built-in wardrobe. Beside his desk, which is against the wall on the left, there’s his whiteboard, which is covered in equations and diagrams drawn in his neat, small handwriting.

A deep sigh brings him back from his thoughts. “This is beautiful,” whispers Caleb. He’s looking at his books with a reverent expression, reading every title on the shelves.

It’s a map of Essek’s interests, and if one knows where to look, his whole world is on display right there. Well, a large part of it, anyway. The parts he can show. A man with a potentially destructive secret needs to be shrewd and careful, if he wants to survive.

“This is better than the library,” Caleb whispers.

“It’s a… curated selection.” Essek leaves him to his perusing and sits in the chair before the desk. He doesn’t spend much of his time in his room, and he’s tidy by nature, so there’s nothing out of place. Nothing damning. “Would you prefer to stay here?” he asks impulsively. “For our study sessions, I mean. It’s quieter than the study room.” It’s also more private, and if what Caleb really wants is to get closer to him to suss out any information about the Academy, Essek is playing in his hands.

But the reverse is also true. He just needs to be careful, which is a second nature for him. He won’t form a close attachment, so he’ll burn all the bridges that need to be burned if the situation gets tricky. And, selfishly, he can still enjoy their friendship, such as it is. A little Caleb is better than no Caleb at all. If he’s smart, Essek can have his cake and eat it, too.

Meanwhile, Caleb is still looking at the books. “Yes, sure, that sounds perfect.”

“If you see something that interests you, take it.” It’s a transparently calculated move on Essek’s part, but somehow Caleb doesn’t realize it, judging from the surprised, thankful smile he shoots him.

“Everything in here interests me. I would relocate your whole collection to my room, if I could.” Encouraged by Essek’s explicit permission, Caleb finally takes a book off the shelf, leafing through it and absentmindedly sitting down on the nearest surface, which happens to be Essek’s bed.

 _Everything is under control_ , Essek tells himself. Wills it to be so.

*

It’s not unusual for Essek to wake up before his alarm. He prefers it this way, actually. It gives him the chance to shake off the stiffness that always occurs in the morning, bend his knees, wrists, fingers and ankles, stretch his spine. When he sleeps with no interruptions, he always wakes up sorer than usual.

Only this time there’s a shape in his arms. It’s warm and breathes regularly. Something tickles his nose, and when he inhales, the smell is familiar but out of place.

He tries to remember the moment Caleb went home, and he realizes he can’t, because Caleb never did. At dinner, they noticed the snow falling beyond the tall dining hall windows. The first snow of the season, fat snowflakes falling obliquely into the lamppost’s cones of light. Essek promised Caleb (who still, inexplicably, didn’t wear a coat) that he was going to give him a ride home. They went back to his room to grab the car keys…

It was late, and Essek was starting to feel pretty tired himself, when he turned around mid-sentence and found Caleb with his head on Essek’s pillow, eyes closed, fast asleep.

He should have woken him up, told him it was best Essek took him home before it was too late. But it was already too late. It had been too late for a while. Essek took the warm, plush blanket folded on the foot of the bed and covered the sleeping Caleb. He took his meds and brushed his teeth, but he didn’t change into his night clothes. If Caleb woke up, he would be ready to drive him home. Then he lay down on the other side of the bed, settling in under the blanket, waiting for Caleb to wake up. But he didn’t even stir. Essek understood this kind of exhaustion, he felt it regularly, and he lay awake in the dark for a long time, listening to Caleb’s regular breath, before eventually falling asleep himself.

He has no idea who moved or when, but the worst aspect of the situation is that it’s apparently been so long since the last time he shared anything more than a handshake with another human being — let alone let a person in his bed — that something in his body clearly short-circuited, because he has an urgent problem that he doesn’t know how to take care of.

How did everything go so wrong, so fast? As much as he doesn’t want to be, he’s attracted to Caleb: the evidence is irrefutable and dismissing it would be pointless and counterproductive. But he can’t act on it. There’s too much at stake.

Besides, the evidence of reciprocation is nonexistent. Essek can live with unreciprocated attraction, as uncomfortable and frustrating as it may be, but outright rejection — which is the only possible outcome, should he ever let his feelings be known…

In any case, this is not the _point_.

The point is that he’s worked too hard to jeopardize his position because his hormones didn’t get the memo. He can’t afford to make a mistake now or ever.

The turmoil of hypotheticals in his half-asleep brain isn’t much conducive to solving the very practical problem he’s facing at the moment, though. But he believes that the mind is more powerful than the body, and so he starts going through all the Hamiltonian equations he remembers in his mind. He’s expanding the Langrangian as well, just to be safe, when Caleb stirs in his sleep, nestling deeper in Essek’s arms, and all the progress Essek’s made is instantly erased.

He disentangles himself as best he can, trying to get his limbs to cooperate for once, so he can lie on his back and find a way out of this without further interference. But all the formulations of classical mechanics have vacated his mind, which is now insisting he considers just how good it would feel to press against Caleb again, bury his face in his hair, and rub against him purposefully. In this fantasy, Caleb would inevitably rouse, but he would also whisper his name, still half-asleep, and move closer and…

Essek presses a hand on his cock to relieve some pressure. His breath is ragged and his heart is beating so fast it can’t be normal or healthy.

Then there’s movement, and as Essek freezes and, as he thinks _no no no_ _please no,_ he hears Caleb turning.

If Essek thought the worst thing that could happen this morning was waking up next to the friend he’s inconveniently attracted to — who is mysteriously tied to a rival institution — with a stubborn and unwelcome hard-on, that’s nothing compared to Caleb reaching out in his sleep (and Essek prays to all the gods he’s never believed in that he’s doing it in his sleep), his hand touching Essek’s stomach and following the length of his forearm down to his wrist.

For a long, excruciating moment, they’re both still.

And then Caleb’s hand moves further. His fingers slide between Essek’s, and he adds to the pressure.

It just happens, and Essek does nothing to stop it. The hiss that escapes his mouth is met by a guttural sound from Caleb’s throat as the pressure becomes more deliberate.

It feels unreal. It feels incredible. It’s probably a dream — if only he were so lucky — but he wants it to be a dream, because he doesn’t deserve this but he _wants it_ , and it’s so bad and so good at the same time and it shouldn’t be happening but it is and—

He grinds against Caleb’s hand, turning this from something that’s just happening to him to something he’s participating in. His body moves on his own and every rational reason why he should stop has long lost its hold on him.

And Caleb, beautiful, smart, lovely, inconvenient Caleb doesn’t stop. Essek has kept his eyes closed this whole time, and when Caleb leans forward and whispers “Okay?” in his ear, Essek just makes a pleading, wounded sound.

Caleb lets him go for a moment, and Essek suddenly fears he’s given the wrong answer. Then a hand that’s not his own slides under the hem of his underwear.

These fingers are not soft or smooth, but their tender determination is what undoes him. It’s over very quickly, but in truth he’s surprised he lasted this long. All it takes are a few pulls and, towards the very end, the thought of Caleb in his bed, Caleb touching him as if he wanted him, Caleb’s whispering the shell of his ear, Caleb.

Essek’s mind is still hazy when he feels Caleb’s hand move away, but he’s still enough in himself to grab his wrist before he can go too far. Obliging to Essek’s wordless request, Caleb lets himself be pulled over him, propping himself on his elbows as he tries not to crush him.

If he could speak, Essek would tell him that he wouldn’t mind, that he just wants to feel him. Instead, with his eyes still closed, Essek pushes his hands under Caleb’s sweater, touching him in one quick, light stroke from his shoulders to his hips, letting his hands rest in the divots at the small of his back. Mapping, learning. Caleb doesn’t move at first, but he has no way to hide the fact that he’s as hard as Essek was a moment ago.

Caleb is wearing some sort of shirt under his sweater. Essek pulls it out of his pants easily, then retraces his steps up Caleb’s torso. As he suspected, Caleb is made of nerves and sinew and little else, and he’s shaking.

Under Essek’s fingertips, Caleb’s heart is beating as fast as his own.

When his fingers travel down again, opening a button and pulling down a zip by touch and muscle memory alone. Essek doesn’t ask if it’s okay. He trusts Caleb to stop him when it becomes too much, when he finally reaches the border of what’s allowed to do when he’s not dreaming.

Essek touches him over his underwear and a puff of warm breath ghosts on his lips, letting him know just how close their faces are.

Seized by a sudden urgency, he pulls them both down, pants and underwear, and Caleb not only doesn’t stop him but cooperates, helping Essek undress him. It’s only when Essek’s fingers — clumsy and inadequate, but they can do this much — close on him that the sense of urgency quickens into a quiet determination.

 _I’ve got you_ , he thinks, and even if he’s barely breathing, he and Caleb are sharing the same air.

He doesn’t do much: mainly Caleb gets himself off in his hand, precome as the only lubricant, and it’s fast and raw and more and more desperate as he gets close.

The sound that Caleb makes when he comes will stay with Essek for a long time, together with the sensation of sticky warmth on his hand and his heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s. As he cleans it on his own shirt, He notices distantly how uncharacteristically unbothered he is by the mess. 

With a long sigh, Caleb flops down on him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. It’s sudden and surprising, and Essek’s breath is taken away not only by the weight that’s pinning him down on the mattress.

There are going to be very real consequences to what just happened. But right now Caleb is warm and solid, and his heat seeps right into Essek’s soul. The steady rhythm of his breath makes Essek wonder if he’s falling asleep again, and would it be too much if he allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep like this, if he ignored those consequences just for a little more, if he looked the other way and made himself at home in this moment?

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when the peace is broken by a loud buzzing. As soon as he realizes where it comes from, Essek manages to reach his nightstand and turn his alarm off. While Caleb groans in protest, reality finally rushes in.

As Essek’s heart rate skyrockets, he slides from under Caleb, getting off the bed and making his way to the bathroom in the pearly half-light of the early morning that filters through the closed blinds. The pain in his legs is tolerable, compared to everything else.

When he turns on the light, the mirror shows him a haunted man. He turns away. He’s already upset when he notices the white, dried stains on his clothes. He strips down and tosses everything into the hamper without looking at it, wrapping himself in his bathrobe to feel warm again. He crouches, focusing on the screaming pain in his joints to distract himself. His breath is shallow and unsteady and he tries to slow it down, fending off the panic attack he knows could happen at any moment.

A flurry of confused thoughts race through his mind. He let his guard down. There’s a _reason_ he shouldn’t have gotten close to Caleb. What has he done? Is Caleb using him, getting into his bed to gain his trust? Is he using Caleb, seducing him to keep him under his watch?

He closes his hands into fists, feeling his nails dig into the meat of his palms. He focuses on that sensation, using it to ground himself, and he slowly pulls himself back on his feet.

He has to go back, eventually. When he does, he finds the light on and Caleb sitting on the bed, his legs crossed amidst the rumpled sheets, hair tousled, head low in reflection. Essek cannot help but stare at him for a moment, with an unfamiliar ache in his chest, and all the lines he’s carefully drawn become blurred.

 _I want this_ , he thinks. He shakes his head. _It must never happen again._

He steps closer to the bed. “Caleb…” he starts with a voice that doesn’t sound like his own.

Caleb’s head shoots up, something hopeful in his eyes, but as soon as he sees him he frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Is there no end to the humiliation? Essek crosses his arm and pretends he isn’t shaking. “I apologise for what happened.” His voice is even worse than before. He can’t stand the scrutiny, not just from Caleb but from himself, and he closes his eyes.

He must get dressed and go outside, get on with his day and hope that Caleb forgets about all this. He’s going to do his best to do just that.

“I’m sorry.” It’s just a whisper, but it leaves his throat raw and hurt. He doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

“Essek, look at me.”

Even if he knows he shouldn’t, he can’t help but open his eyes and look at Caleb, still sitting in his bed, looking up at him. Despite his resolve to forget what happened, Essek knows that this memory won’t fade that easily. 

And Caleb is also looking straight back in his eyes when he says, slowly and clearly: “I’m not sorry.”

*

The cafeteria is not busy on a Saturday morning, but even if it was, Caleb suggested they talk with some food and coffee in them, and Essek agrees. He also suspects that Caleb doesn’t want to stay cooped up in Essek’s room after what happened. He doesn’t, either.

So here they are, sitting one in front of the other next to one of the tall windows. At least five inches of snow have fallen overnight. There are too many things Essek doesn’t know how to say, doesn’t even want to think about, or where to start.

Before he can speak, though, Caleb looks at him over the rim of his cup. “What happened?”

 _A mistake, evidently._ Essek takes a sip of coffee to buy some time.

And maybe it’s the coffee, or the fact that he’s dressed and not in his bathrobe, watching Caleb in his bed after having had ill-advised sex with him, that make Essek feel like himself again. Just a little bit, enough to deflect and be flippant. He even manages a small, crooked smile. “You were there too.”

“That’s not what I meant, you smartass, and you know it.” Caleb’s fingers trace the edge of his cup. “You… said you were sorry. And that’s really too bad, because I’m not.” He looks up again, tilting his head to the left, the way he does when a thought crosses his mind. “Correction: I regret whatever ruined your mood this morning. If it was something I did, I apologise and I will try to do better next time.”

It’s a nice speech. It sounds rehearsed but honest: either Caleb is an excellent liar or a terrible judge of character. It’s also something Essek has no idea how to handle.

He doesn’t realize he’s bouncing his leg until Caleb reaches out under the table and puts a hand on his knee. Essek stills, his train of thoughts hopelessly derailed.

“Is this okay?”

Essek has no idea how to answer. He exhales slowly.

Caleb lowers his head to make eye contact. His eyes are of the clearest blue and full of concern. “Talk to me, _Schatzi_.”

Even if he doesn’t understand what it means, the endearment does something to Essek. He’s not sure it’s pleasant. The calculating part of his brain tells him that has to give Caleb something, if he wants to keep him from becoming suspicious. If he wants to keep him in his life. He obviously can’t tell him the whole truth, or bore him with all the sad, tedious details of his life, but perhaps being transparent about a few personal details would suffice.

Essek inhales deeply. “I didn’t have friends growing up.” He doesn’t know if this is the right starting point, but he has started, at least. “I was homeschooled for the most part of my childhood and adolescence. My mother is a minister and my family has very clear ideas about how things are supposed to be.” He takes a sip of lukewarm coffee, suddenly wishing for something stronger. “I was the eldest child and she expected me to walk in her footsteps. The day I told her I was going to study Physics is the last day she spoke to me.” He hesitates, because the next part has to be a lie. “My family still supports me, and it pains me to admit it, but I need their help until I have the means to make it on my own. That’s why I need to graduate as soon as I can.”

During all this, Caleb doesn’t take his hand away. _You shouldn’t get used to this_ , he tells himself, even as his own hand brushes Caleb’s under the table. When Caleb turns his palm upward, Essek feels the calluses with his fingertips, with a vivid flashback of that same hand touching him in another, way more intimate context.

“There’s also my condition,” he goes on. He’s never spoken about this to anyone who wasn’t a doctor. “Are… are you familiar with rheumatoid arthritis?”

Caleb shakes his head as he moves his hand, interlacing their fingers. It’s so natural and effortless, and Essek feels like an impostor.

“I had the first symptoms a few years ago. My knees and ankles sometimes would be sore or swollen, nothing that I thought was alarming. Until the morning I couldn’t get out of bed.” Even to his own ears, Essek sounds like he’s lecturing, but it’s the only way he’s going to make it through this bit. “The diagnosis came after months and months, and by that time my hands and other joints started to be affected, too.” He flexes his free hand reflexively. “It’s… manageable, most days, with caution, medication and painkillers, but the flare-ups are… unpleasant.” He sees Caleb looking at him with intensity, and he makes a dismissive gesture. “I’m fine, really. It’s not like I enjoyed long walks to begin with, and I’ve never wanted to be a surgeon.”

By the way Caleb is looking at him, he’s finally connecting some dots. “You’ll tell me if there’s something I can do to make your life easier.” It doesn’t sound like a request and, from Caleb’s expression, it’s not meant to be. “Can I tell our friends? They’ll want to help, too.”

That word again. _Friends._ It may be the price to pay to gain their trust, but he’s not looking forward to telling this story again very soon. Essek nods. “Anyway, you see how this doesn’t leave much room for… I mean, I never have… I’m not good at relationships.” He tells the next part to his coffee, which looks back at him unimpressed, offering no feedback. “Of any kind. As you may remember, I rarely feel the need to, ah… fulfill my physical needs with another person, and… well, I never really had any friends, either.”

He looks up, then, because he doesn’t know how to go on, but when he finds Caleb looking at him he can’t hold eye contact for more than a few seconds.

This is where Caleb politely excuses himself and admits that it has all been a mistake. Essek has made his point: he doesn’t need companionship because he’s simply not made for it.

Caleb’s voice snatches him out of his thoughts. “What do you want?”

It takes a few seconds for Essek to process that. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve talked a lot about what you do and don’t need. What do you want?” Caleb keeps looking at him, unrelenting. “What do you want from this?”

That’s… an excellent question.

For a moment, just out of curiosity, Essek allows himself to peer behind a door he keeps closed at all times, trying to forget about its existence. He thinks about how it would feel to wake up with Caleb every morning. To spend time with him without having to look for an excuse. To reorganize his schedule, maybe share a calendar. All things that require effort, but isn’t he already doing several of them without considering it a sacrifice?

But that’s not all. There’s a universe where he made different choices, where he and Caleb are friends for friendship’s own sake, where there’s no sword hanging over them, where trust is freely given.

Slowly, cautiously, Essek closes that door. Caleb’s is an excellent question, but not one he can answer truthfully.

“It would be pointless to deny that I am attracted to you.” His tone is once again academic, clinical, cold. An idea has formed in his mind, and he thinks it could work. “And I wouldn’t object if what happened last night would happen again.”

“Right.” There’s a puzzling hint of disappointment in Caleb’s voice as he toys with his mug. He pulls his hand back, but then he adds: “Well, we agree on that matter.”

Essek nods, relieved. “But I would be grateful if we could keep it between us.” He winces after he says that. It sounds so… dismissive. “I don’t mean to say… Anyone would be lucky to have you, Caleb.”

Caleb’s smiles at him, but his expression is strained, almost regretful. “You don’t have to spare my feelings, Essek. I’m not good at relationships either. There’s nobody out there whose heart will break because of me.” There’s a beat, then he nods. “I’m fine with keeping it quiet and casual.”

The relief that floods Essek is the strongest physical reaction he’s had since… well, since earlier this morning. “We have a deal, then.” He extends a hand. 

Caleb looks at it for a moment with an unreadable expression, then he takes and shakes it. “Deal.”

Despite what he thought was an irreparable mistake, a terrible blunder, Essek has found a way to make it work. He’s not going to doubt his brains ever again. When he smiles at Caleb, there’s a mote of genuine happiness in it.

* * *

\--- conversation with **Jester Lavorre** \---

> _Essek!  
>  _ _Caleb told us about your thing the other day  
>  _ _I read all about it  
>  _ _< link>  
>  _ _this article says that gentle exercise helps!  
>  _ _Caduceus and I bake on Sunday mornings  
>  _ _you’re invited!!!_

\---conversation with **Caleb Widogast** \---

> _Jester just invited me to your house tomorrow morning. Is this a thing she usually does?_
> 
> _You mean being nice to her friends? Yes, that sounds like Jester  
>  _ _Is 7 am good for you? That’s when the baking session usually starts_

\--- conversation with **Jester Lavorre** \---

> _Jester, thank you for the invitation. Shall I bring something?_
> 
> _OHMYGOSH really??  
>  _ _I mean, of course, you’re welcome.  
>  _ _BRING YOURSELF  
>  _ _xxx_

The last time Essek talked to Jester in person, her voice was muffled by a thick, fluffy white scarf. She was also wearing earmuffs and gloves, and a thick, long jumper with a unicorn horn attached to the hood. Along with Beauregard and Fjord, she had formed a rescue party to pick up their friend and bring him back home.

“You could come, too!” she chirped, her breath forming little ethereal clouds despite the scarf. “We’re having a snowball fight and hot chocolate with marshmallows!”

“Maybe next time,” Essek declined. 

“Suit yourself,” Beauregard commented, but without much hostility.

As they said goodbye, Essek exchanged a glance with Caleb, glad to see his tentatively hopeful mood mirrored in his friend’s expression.

He isn’t worried when he and Caleb don’t see each other for a few days after their conversation. He’s happy for the chance to sit with this for a while, iron out the creases in his plan, make sure he can approach this rationally, going forward. He also has his studies and his research to think about. He won’t discuss his doctoral thesis for at least another year, but Dr. Kryn recently suggested he started putting something tangible together, and that’s not good news for his workload.

They still text daily. Essek can’t help but think of Caleb any time he comes across something curious, but sometimes he just needs to complain about his colleagues to a sympathetic ear. Caleb tells him his friends’ shenanigans, which Essek is happy to offer a terse commentary on, and he quietly saves every picture of Frumpkin in a folder on his phone.

When he pulls over at the town house on a cold, overcast December morning, most of the snow has melted and it’s been almost a week since the last time they saw each other in person. The text he sends Jester to tell her he’s arrived goes unanswered, and his manners prevent him from making a phone call at seven on a Sunday morning. So he walks up to the door and gives three quick, quiet but firm knocks on the door.

Predictably, it’s not Jester who opens it, but a very tall, very skinny individual with a bright pink mohawk he’s never met before, but who smiles at him like an old friend. Despite his angular frame, he looks like someone who gives good hugs. He’s dressed in comfortable, drapey clothes, and there’s something in his presence that’s instantly soothing. “You’re here! Excellent. Please, come in, warm up.”

He turns and walks down a short hallway that ends with a flight of wooden stairs that goes up, clearly expecting Essek to follow him. And he does, instantly feeling like he’s walked into a dragon’s lair or some crazy pawnbroker’s shop. From what he can see, the house has not been decorated with a comprehensive and coherent criterion; every big and small thing tells something of one of its occupants instead.

There’s a row of shoes of all shapes, colours and sizes just inside the door, on the hardwood floor. Essek reads it as an invitation to take off his own shoes, and he tries to count them as he does so, but he’s already lost sight of his guide and he gives up.

The kitchen is the last room on the right before the stairs, and it doesn’t look like what Essek supposes a students’ home kitchen should look like. Everything, from the wooden cabinets to the jars of dried herbs to the pots of luscious culinary herbs that line the window over the sink, is cozy and welcoming in a grandparent-y way. The air is warm and smells of spices, and Essek feels a pang of directionless nostalgia.

“Come in, come in,” says Caleb’s housemate. Essek doesn’t believe he introduced himself, but from what Jester said, he must be Caduceus. “Make yourself at home. Jester’s still asleep, but she’ll come down shortly. Have you had breakfast?”

If a cup of black coffee can be considered breakfast, then yes. For some reason, he couldn’t stomach the idea of eating anything, this morning. Essek nods, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s wearing the more casual clothes he found in his closet, the ones he usually puts on when he’s too sick to leave his room but he doesn’t feel like staying in his pyjamas all day: a soft flannel button down with a black and grey motif and slacks. “I have. Can I make myself useful?”

“No.” With a peaceful smile, Caduceus pushes a jar full of cookies towards him on the table. “Not yet, at least. Sit down. Shall I make some tea?” He starts fiddling with the kettle before Essek can answer.

He doesn’t bother saying that he doesn’t like tea: he doesn’t think anything he says will be taken at face value, anyway, and it’s easier to just go with the flow.

All the while, Caduceus talks. Between the general coziness and his peaceful drawl, Essek is starting to feel at peace. The kitchen chair he’s sitting on is surprisingly comfortable, and he can almost feel his blood pressure go down.

When Caduceus puts a cup full of steaming liquid in front of him, he smiles gently. “Relax. You’ve got nothing else to do, nowhere else to be,” he says, apropos of nothing.

Essek finds himself considering this revolutionary concept as he blows in his mug and takes a small sip of tea, forgetting he doesn’t like it. Then he looks down, surprised. “This is very good.”

If Caduceus is offended by his astonishment, he doesn’t show it. He’s leaning against the counter, looking completely in his element, and smiling his peaceful smile. “Thank you. I grow it myself.”

That’s not the answer Essek was expecting. He blinks. “You do?”

Sipping from his own mug, Caduceus nods. “I’m into organic farming as part of my job at the conservatory.”

Essek has never really seen the appeal of botany or biology, but he doesn’t want to be impolite. “Plant husbandry is a fascinating subject.” For some people, surely. “What’s your academic qualification?”

“Absolutely nothing. I learned in the field.” Realizing he made a joke, Caduceus laughs. “Literally.”

As he tries to find a way to keep up this weird conversation, Essek hears a loud yawn come from the stairs, and a moment later Jester appears on the kitchen doorway, still in what he supposes is her nightgown. Instead of apologising for being late, she lights up as soon as she sees Essek. “Essek! You’re early!”

He would correct her, but he’d rather prepare for the hug he knows is coming, putting the mug safely on the table and bracing himself.

But Jester’s socked feet skid to a halt on the terracotta tiles, and she bounces like a puppy dog in front of him, telling him about how happy she is that he’s here and how they’re going to make the best bread ever.

“Kneading dough is supposed to be really good for your hands,” she points out, then she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “There’s all sorts of things like that you can do with your hands, really. Lots of different contexts.”

Essek is sure she’s joking to some degree, but he’s not quite sure he understands all the subtext, so he ignores her. “I hope I won’t disappoint you. I’ve never baked before.”

Jester gasps. “Not even a cake?”

As Essek shakes his head, Caduceus puts their empty mugs into the sink and starts going through the cabinets, bringing out bowls, utensils and ingredients. “I’ll mix the dough and you’ll knead it, okay?” he says to Essek. “I’ll show you.”

Jester runs to where a row of aprons is hanging off some pegs and she hands each of them one. “And I’ll mix the batter for the muffins!”

“What’s the purpose of muffins?” Essek asks, curiously. The apron he ended up with is made of plain orange cloth, while Jester’s is pink and full of frills, with smiling cartoon cupcakes on it, and Caduceus’ is white and full of pockets.

Jester’s scoff is more of a snort, and it’s terribly endearing. “Being delicious, of course.”

Some time later, Essek is surprised to glance at the huge analog clock hanging above the door to see that an hour has passed already. He’s technically spending his morning in a social context with people he’s only recently met, but it hardly feels like it. He likes Jester, after all, and her constant chatter saves him from making conversation. And, while Caduceus treats him like they’re old friends, he never sounds condescending or pushy. His laid-back attitude belies a catty side, and Essek finds it rather amusing.

He’s trying not to laugh at one of Jester’s ridiculous jokes when a soft voice comes from the doorway. “ _Guten Morgen._ ” He doesn’t look surprised to see Essek with his sleeves rolled up and wearing an apron, which has saved only part of his shirt from the flour. His eyes don’t even linger on him.

Essek has to remind himself to breathe after a few seconds. Caleb acting like finding Essek in his kitchen on a Sunday morning is nothing out of the ordinary is part of the plan.

It’s a good thing. It’s exactly what Essek wants: no acknowledgements, no sentimentality.

Caleb walks up to Jester, plunging a finger into the bowl next to her while she’s distracted prepping the muffin tin, and runs away when he gets caught. Essek looks at him surreptitiously, taking in his brown housedress, which is grandfatherly in a surprisingly endearing way, and what look like pyjamas underneath. He looks very awake for someone who clearly just got out of bed.

Caduceus tilts the lid on one of the pots he’s manning so the sauce bubbling inside doesn’t spill over. “Coffee, Caleb?”

Essek freezes. “You’ve had coffee all along?”

Three faces turn towards him in unison. Essek has no clue why they all laugh, why it doesn’t feel like they’re laughing _at_ him but _with_ him, or why, after a while, he can’t help but join them.

*

They make him stay for lunch, obviously. Well, nobody has made Essek do anything since he was five: they invite him to lunch, and he says yes. He draws the line when they ask him to join their group chat, which is ominously called something like ‘the mighty nein’, although it must be a pun he doesn’t understand.

“There’s _nine_ of you?” He tries to count the heads around the table, wondering who’s missing.

“No! We’re…” Beau stops mid-sentence and counts as well. “Seven. Well, eight, if you count Molly.”

“We count Molly,” Jester says solemnly, and they all nod.

Essek is about to ask why there are only six people at the table, himself excluded, when Veth adds: “We have a few honorary members, though, right? I think my husband should count.”

 _Husband?_ Essek thinks, but they start debating whether pets should be counted, too, and the point of the conversation is lost pretty soon as they launch into anecdotes, some of which seem to imply that Jester has or has had a pet weasel.

While this goes on, he’s content to get lost in thought as he nibbles Caduceus’ excellent food (the bread has turned out well, too) and studiously avoids looking at Caleb. He has the feeling Caleb’s doing the same.

As lunchtime slowly tapers off into the afternoon, Essek takes advantage of a moment of silence to try and take his leave. He’s met with the predictable shouts of protests, but he has work to do and he should have gone back hours ago. Also, he’s starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. It’s been a surprisingly fun day so far, and it would be a pity to ruin it.

As he stands up, so does Caleb. “The magazine you gave to me,” he says. “I read the article you mentioned. Fascinating stuff. Do you want it back now?”

Essek shrugs. “You could come over one of these days, or when it’s more convenient to you.” He keeps his voice level and neutral, but it doesn’t escape him how Jester repeats his words in a dreamy whisper, so loud that it can be heard by the entire table.

He maintains his composure as he makes eye contact with Caleb, who nods. “I will take you up on that. I have a test on Tuesday, but I’ll show up after that.”

It’s Beau who walks him to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to be added to the group chat, man? At least you can keep an eye on the gossip.”

Essek thinks that Beau has her reasons to ask him to open up, and they involve _her_ keeping an eye on _him_. Still, he smiles at her. “Absolutely sure.”

“Hey, Essek.”

Feeling the cold fingers of dread creeping up his neck, Essek. turns around on the doorstep. “Yes?”

“Do you know someone named Dezran Thain?”

The icy fingers close on his neck, paralyzing him. There’s no way he’s going to dodge the question, no excuse he can make to weasel his way out of this conversation. So he’ll have to lie. “No, I’ve never heard of him. Why?”

He waits for Beau to call him out, but after looking in his eyes for a long moment, she just shrugs. “Nothing. It was worth a shot. See you around, okay?”

Essek waits until he’s in his car to close his eyes and rest his forehead against the wheel, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. That… was a close call.

*

Dr. Kryn looks tired. It’s subtle, but Essek’s eyes are trained to notice the small details. Her posture is flawless as always and she instills the usual fear in everyone she speaks to, but she keeps fidgeting with her wedding band and the lines at the corners of her eyes are a little more pronounced.

“I just wish they stopped breathing down my neck about these alleged leaks.” She sighs, scowling at the email she just received. She doesn’t usually indulge in what she sees as pointless whining, so it really must be a stressful time for her.

Essek knows it’s a privilege to be one of the few people Leylas Kryn, his mentor and one of the most brilliant astrophysicists in the world, allows to see the cracks in her armor. He likes her and her cutthroat, no-nonsense attitude. What he did isn’t personal. “As long as they don’t have proof, they can’t make accusations against you.”

She sighs as she turns her computer off. They’re done for the day: the notes Essek put together for her seminar on loop quantum gravity next month have been reviewed, their schedules organized and synched, and a preliminary frame for his thesis approved. If it weren’t for the email from the board, the day would have ended on a high note.

As she gets on her feet, Dr. Kryn makes sure her hair is in order. She always wears it in a deceptively simple updo, with understated matching jewellery on her ears and neck. Essek has taken more than a page from her book. Her blue dress suits have become proverbial in the Physics department, and there’s always great trepidation in some circles about the outfits she and her wife will wear to the annual fundraiser. They make a strange but well-matched couple; unlike her partner, Quana Kryn speaks softly and laughs easily.

Essek is always a little puzzled by the complicity and the trust which are so clear between them, even when they’re just standing next to each other. It makes him wonder how exceptional it really is, whatever they have.

“The last article one of them published has some ‘concerning details’.” She adopts a mocking tone as she quotes the email. “I’m going to read it tonight to keep the board happy, but I don’t know what they want me to do. Whoever thinks that someone is feeding the Academy information about our research has too vivid an imagination.”

“I’ll keep an eye out, just in case,” Essek says calmly.

Dr. Kryn’s laugh is more condescending than affectionate, but it may just be exhaustion. “Focus on your research, Thelyss. The sooner you get your PhD, the sooner I can really make use of you.”

As he walks to the elevator, Essek thinks about those last words. He knows he should take them as the compliment they are, and even then he can’t help but feel this aimless frustration. Which may be either the cause or the consequence of the migraine he’s starting to develop. He checks his watch. Or it may also be due to the fact that he hasn’t eaten in twelve hours.

The thought of being around people makes him feel even more exhausted than before. A quick dinner in his room it is, then. A healthy diet should technically be part of his treatment, but realistically? The alternatives are between eating what’s more convenient at any given time and nothing at all. And, if he’s lucky, the cafeteria will still have a sandwich or two he can take away.

A light rain has started to fall, turning what’s left of last week’s snow into disgusting slush by the time he reaches the cafeteria. He’s paying for his meal when he glimpses a flash of red in the periphery of his vision. He turns to see an unmistakable ginger head bent on a book at a corner table.

Fidgeting with a pencil, Caleb is muttering under his breath as he reads, and there’s a small graveyard of empty cups before him. Essek remembers him saying he has a test… oh, tomorrow. That would explain it.

He checks his watch again, and makes a quick decision. Turning back towards the cafeteria clerk, and openly ignoring the murderous stare of the girl in line after him, he places another order.

Then he walks over. “It’s just me,” he says when Caleb jumps. He clears a portion of the table for the two sandwiches and the two tall cups he bought, placing them as far away from the books as he can. He takes his coat off in front of a baffled Caleb, then tugs at his scarf as he sits down in front of him. “You haven’t had dinner yet, correct?”

Caleb blinks repeatedly. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you have something to eat, for a start. And then helping you review for your exam, maybe, so you can go home and have a shot at a few hours of sleep.”

Caleb still looks like he’s trying to make sense of Essek’s presence, let alone his words. “How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t. It’s been a very long day and I was going to have a quiet dinner, but I would rather you made it through tonight in one piece.” He takes one of the sandwiches, unwrapping it methodically. When he looks up at him, Caleb is still staring. “Caleb Widogast, would you please do me the favor of having dinner with me?”

At last, Caleb lets out an exhausted sigh and closes his eyes, rubbing them. Essek takes a bite of his sandwich (mediocre but edible) as he watches him. When Caleb reemerges, he looks at Essek across the table with his head propped on his hands.

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. Essek waves away his gratitude and gives a pointed look at the food, until Caleb grabs the other sandwich with a weak laugh. “This is tea,” he notices, when he takes a sip from his cup.

By that time, Essek is quietly squeezing the empty wrap of his sandwich into a ball. “Coffee after dark is always a bad idea.” He points at the book with his chin. Even if it’s upside down, he knows what it is. “Physics 101 is a mixed bag, but if you’ve paid attention during class, you’re not going to fail.”

“You’ve probably taken this test with your eyes closed.”

Essek takes a sip of tea with a non committal shrug. “Probably. I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.”

Caleb’s laugh is tired but it’s _there_ , which is the important part. “ _How_ old are you?”

For a moment, Essek considers lying or brushing away the question. But he hasn’t forgotten about their arrangement, about the fact that Caleb still calls him — and considers him — a friend. Essek can’t be honest with him about everything, so what’s the point of withholding a small, harmless truth? “Twenty-three.”

From the look on Caleb’s face, a real answer was not what he was expecting. Still rolling up the sandwich wrap between his hands, Essek looks at him frown. “You’re graduating at twenty-three?”

“I’m both smarter and more privileged than most. It’s not that surprising.” It comes out a little more defensively than he originally wanted.

But Caleb smiles again, and Essek adds the smile to the mental tally he started earlier. “I can’t even tell if you’re being modest or an asshole, right now.”

Essek smiles, too. “Why not both.” He reaches out and turns the Physics 101 manual towards him, leafing through it until he finds a problem. “Two identical sleds start moving at the same time from the same point A. Take note, Widogast,” he adds without looking up.

There’s something comforting in going back to the basics, like slipping in an old pair of shoes. He’s almost enjoying himself, and it works, because Caleb may take his time to work out the solutions, but his answers are always right.

After the fifth problem, Essek slams the book shut and starts wrapping his scarf around his neck. “That’s enough for tonight. I’m taking you home, and no more reviewing once you get there. You’re just going to be exhausted tomorrow.” He stands up, taking his coat from the back of the chair. “I don’t have my car keys with me, so we’ll have to stop by my dorm.”

Caleb doesn’t protest, but there’s a visible reluctance in the way he collects his books. “You are right, but I was thinking…” His mouth sets in a hard line and, after what looks like a short discussion within himself, he finally looks at Essek. “I was thinking, if you didn’t mind… I was wondering if I could come over. To your room.” Caleb exhales, looking both embarrassed and relieved. “You know, it would help with the nerves. I don’t think I’ll sleep much in any case. I just thought, if you are free, we might as well…”

The dots take a while to connect in Essek’s mind, and he curses at himself. He’s not used to being so slow. “Yes,” he interrupts, realizing Caleb will just keep on talking nonsense otherwise. “Of course, yes. Let’s go.”

Even if he’s never taken advantage of the knowledge before, Essek has noticed that people in his dorm have overnight guests all the time. His discretion is not out of fear of getting caught breaking the rules: it’s the gossip mill that worries him. Still, there doesn’t seem to be anyone around his corridor, and he and Caleb slip into his room unnoticed.

When Essek closes the door behind him, there’s an awkward silence. He should have foreseen it, honestly. What happened that night was spontaneous, an adjective he’s not familiar with in the slightest. He was so pleased with himself for finding a perfect solution that he didn’t really take into account the next step of the plan, which involved having sex with Caleb again.

Does he want to have sex with Caleb again?

He takes his coat, scarf and shoes off, and sees Caleb doing the same out of the corner of his eye. Intellectually, he knows the answer is yes. He has come to terms with his attraction and he’s already acted on it. So why does part of him want to run away?

He takes his time putting away his things, then he looks at Caleb, wondering if he’s feeling the same. He finds him once again fascinated by the bookshelves. Caleb notices his gaze and turns towards him with one of his small smiles. Essek’s tally goes up by one. “I’m sorry. They’re very distracting.”

Essek notices his hands are fidgeting with the cuffs of his own jacket and he takes it off, hanging it on the back of his chair. _Fidgeting_ , for God’s sake. “We don’t have to do anything.”

When he looks back at Caleb, he notices he’s staring at him, but as soon as they make eye contact he looks away. Caleb exhales through his nose, then walks to the bed, patting the space beside him. “Come, sit.”

Essek crosses the room as well, starting to loosen his tie on his way to the bed. As soon as he’s within reach, though, Caleb gently swats his hands away and replaces them with his own, making the silk murmur under his rough fingertips.

“Your hands,” Essek starts, before realizing he has no idea how to ask politely. He shuts his mouth, focusing on the dip between Caleb’s collarbones, which his sweater barely leaves uncovered.

Caleb pulls on one end of the tie and starts rolling it up. The movement is mesmerizing. “I worked my way through life for a bit. Even your delicate hands would have toughened up.”

Essek scoffs. “My ‘delicate hands’ are so useless I can’t be trusted in a lab. There’s a reason I focus on the theoretical side.”

He’s worried he’s ruined the atmosphere, such as it is, but Caleb puts the rolled-up tie on the nightstand and he takes one of Essek’s hands, holding it between his own. “I like your hands.”

It’s quite a simple declaration, really. Essek receives plenty of compliments, on his work or even his appearance, but there’s always a double edge to them. And he’s never thought about his hands as something to be loved, but only a faulty part of himself. His body is mainly made of faulty parts, in fact, which is why he relies so heavily on his mind. To have someone so casually state something like this…

Esske hasn’t cried in years and he doesn’t know why he feels like it now. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to center himself as Caleb takes his fingers one by one, massaging them with firm tenderness, making him hyper-aware of every single bone and tendon and knuckle and phalanx.

“Is this useful at all?”

Essek opens his eyes. “What?”

“Jester sent us all the articles she’s been reading on your condition.” Caleb rolls his eyes with a fond smile as he takes Essek’s other hand. The one he’s done with tingles slightly. It’s not unpleasant. “She means well. Does what I’m doing help in any way?”

Essek thinks before answering. It would help more if his hands were actually sore, but he’s afraid Caleb would stop if he told him so. “Yes.” He studies Caleb as he looks down, focused on his task. His hair looks brighter than usual in the vibrant LED light he had installed in his room. “But I… thought tonight wasn’t going to be about me.”

When Caleb makes eye contact again, he has a peculiar expression. Essek has seen its twin a short while ago, as he watched him solve classical mechanics problems. “This isn’t about you.” He drops Essek’s hand to pull aside his shirt collar, brushing his neck with his fingertips. “Not just.”

Essek fights the instinct to recoil. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stands on end and his chest feels hollow, which would explain why breathing has become so hard.

The thing is, he doesn’t know what’s happening.

People might think of him as a cold, calculating loner, but he’s not oblivious to social clues. He just doesn’t care enough to follow up on them. He actually prides himself on his insight: he can spot with laser precision when someone’s lying to him, and he certainly knows when he’s being manipulated or made fun of. He _thinks_ he can tell when people are flirting, but whether they’re genuine or they want something it’s often a coin toss. And it’s not like he ever takes them up on their propositions to find out.

His instinct doesn’t work with Caleb. Not right now.

He expected tonight to be a quick, utilitarian exchange, but things are not going in that direction. He thought he had traced new, better lines, but they’re blurring again under his very eyes. He thought he knew where he stood, and where Caleb stood, and what was and wasn’t between them; instead he finds himself wondering how it would feel like to fist his hands into Caleb’s sweater, pull him up and kiss him until neither of them remembers their name anymore.

This last mental image is so jarring that it shocks him back into reality. Even if it felt like he spent hours in his own head, it must have been just a couple of seconds. As he reminds himself that this isn’t what they have agreed to — that he can’t kiss him just because he wants to, this isn’t that kind of relationship — Caleb leans forward.

Essek’s mind goes blank. He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to close his eyes. He just stops breathing.

The next thing he feels is Caleb’s lips brushing the side of his neck, where his fingertips were until a moment ago. The top buttons of his shirt come undone one after the other. Essek can’t suppress a shiver when Caleb kisses him in a sensitive spot between the neck and the shoulder.

A puff of warm air punctuates Caleb’s small laugh. “Essek Thelyss, are you ticklish?”

“No,” he lies reflexively, because he’s not in the habit of giving people weapons against him.

His defensive tone gives him away, however, because Caleb just leans against him and laughs again, putting a hand on Essek’s hip to keep his balance. Essek is about to protest, but another kiss pressed under his jaw shuts him up. There’s a smile still in Caleb’s voice when he asks: “What about here?”

Petrified with something that doesn’t feel quite like terror, but isn’t so far off either, Essek swallows. He has no idea what to do with his hands, so he overcomes his paralysis and tentatively puts them on Caleb’s waist. He’s rewarded with the knowledge that his threadbare-looking sweater is actually very, very soft, and also with a low moan as Caleb melts a little bit more against him. “It’s fine,” he manages to whisper, somehow.

“Mmm.” Another kiss, just below the ear. “And here?”

“Are you collecting data?”

It’s a lame attempt at a joke, not an invitation to stop, and Essek can’t help but feel disappointed when Caleb pulls back. Looking down, though, Essek realizes that Caleb has opened all the buttons he could reach, and is now pulling Essek’s shirt out of his pants. “Lie down?”

Essek could say no, but what would be the point of that? They adjust on the bed, Essek lying with his head on the pillow and Caleb moving with him, over him, pressing Essek’s hip bones down, keeping him still as he bends and kisses his bare stomach. A few loose strands of hair whisper on Essek’s skin, not quite tickling him. He wonders how Caleb’s hair would feel on him if it wasn’t tied back. Another kiss, an inch lower.

Unlike the first time, there’s no sense of urgency, and it doesn’t feel like a dream in the slightest. They’re both very awake and aware of what’s happening, and the sheer materiality of the situation is something that keeps being astounding to Essek. He’s used to living in his head, dealing in hypotheticals. Even the very real data he handles are just numbers on a screen, lines in a graph.

This, on the other hand, is physical, immediate, tangible. If he wants to adjust a parameter, he needs to speak the change into being.

Not that he wants anything to change, right now, but as soon as he understands what Caleb’s intentions are, Essek clears his throat. He hates to dissuade him, but it _is_ the end of a long day. “I should let you know that I really need a shower.”

Caleb doesn’t raise his head, but his grip on Essek’s hip intensifies. “Don’t you dare leave this bed.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the word choice or the tone of voice, or both, but if Essek hadn’t been hopelessly turned on already, he surely would be now. He tilts his head backwards on the pillow and hisses when Caleb skips several passages and presses his mouth right on the front of his pants.

Essek has been uncomfortably hard for a few minutes, now, and pretending otherwise is both pointless and counterproductive. He won’t beg, but he will _ask_ , if Caleb doesn’t do something very soon.

The next things he feels are a sudden lack of mouth on him (not good) and then hands making quick work of his pants and underwear (very good), and despite the anticipation he’s not ready when Caleb presses his lips against him again, only this time with no layers in between. 

It’s not a kiss, just lips grazing against skin, not dissimilar from what Caleb did before on his neck. But a litany of curses and benedictions unfolds in Essek’s mind nonetheless, and he doesn’t realize he’s saying all of it out loud until Caleb chuckles. His hands are on the covers; he’s only touching Essek with his mouth, trailing lazy kisses on the underside of his cock, until Essek thinks he’s going crazy.

His resolve not to beg begins to waver as he opens his mouth, but at that very moment Caleb licks away the precome gathering on his tip and then sucks gently on it.

Essek has been a child prodigy, and then the youngest teacher the Physics Department has ever had. He has made shedding light on the dark places of the universe his life mission: few people in the whole world understand time and space as he does. And yet, as he brings his hands to his mouth to muffle his own cries, he has no explanation for the way they expand and come together and twist in utterly incomprehensible ways.

Then Caleb swallows him down, pulls back slowly and goes down all the way again, and for the first time in a long, long time Essek has no words, no thoughts.

He was honest when he told Caleb that he usually doesn’t see the point of physical intercourse, but this thesis is extremely convincing. He feels… possessed, for lack of a better word, by a thirst that he both wants to satisfy and to prolong as much as possible.

He barely thought that (if ‘thinking’ is the right word for what his brain is doing right now) that Caleb pulls back with a sound that can only be described as indecent. “Are you okay?”

It takes all of Essek’s self control not to whine. He lowers his hands from his mouth and, in a remarkably put together tone, given the circumstances, answers: “I was, very much so, until a moment ago.”

He doesn’t look down, because the idea of looking at Caleb sucking him off feels inexplicably more intimate than the reality of it, but from his quiet laugh Essek can imagine his pleased smile. “Are you comfortable, I mean.”

“Yes, yes, I am.” Essek takes a deep breath. Does he have to sound this impatient? He tries again. “Please.” He’s not begging, it’s clear. He’s _inviting_.

“Since you ask nicely.” And Caleb takes him in his mouth again, as deep as he can.

Not unsurprisingly, it takes very little for Essek to reach the point where he needs to warn Caleb that he’s close. He doesn’t know which words he uses, if he says anything at all, but all he gets in return is Caleb keening encouragingly, and between that and the fact that he can _feel_ the vibration in Caleb’s throat, he’s done for.

By the time he starts putting himself back together again, Caleb is pulling back, pressing one last kiss to Essek’s hipbone before he gets off the bed.

Where is he going, and why? Boneless and wrung out as he is, Essek turns his head to the side, ready to deploy his not inconsiderable powers of persuasion. But, when he sees Caleb shrugging on his coat, all he manages to say is, “Come back.” God, he sounds like a spoiled child. “Stay. I thought… this would be about you, not me.”

“It was.” Caleb buries his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, looking at Essek with open honesty. “It really, really was.”

 _Fuck_ , Essek thinks. He’s telling the truth. “Let me drive you home, at least.”

But Caleb shakes his head. “I think a walk would do me good.”

 _I would do you good._ Essek physically bites his tongue. 

Silence falls between them. Caleb starts to walk towards the door somewhat uncertainly, but he hesitates. “You didn’t have to stay and help me, earlier. You could have just walked away. But you didn’t.” His eyes can’t seem to settle anywhere, and he avoids looking at Essek. “Consider this a debt repaid.”

 _No_ , he wants to say. He didn’t do it for _this_. It’s not a transaction.

Except it is, isn’t it? It must be, otherwise it would become something else.

Before Essek can find a way of making Caleb stay — he’s not above resorting to blackmail, by this point — he nods once and opens the door. “Goodnight, Essek. I will see you soon.”

And he goes away, leaving Essek half naked and spent and completely alone.

*

\---conversation with **Caleb Widogast** \---

> _I thought about what you said earlier.  
>  _ _About our agreement, and debts.  
>  _ _I would like to ask you if we could keep these things separated.  
>  _ _I don’t want you to feel that being friends comes with a price.  
>  _ _And helping each other with their academic endeavours is a thing friends do, or so I believe._
> 
> _I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do  
>  _ _But I agree that my wording was perhaps poor  
>  _ _I just sometimes feel better when  
>  _ _When I make my friends happy, rather than the other way around._
> 
> _I understand.  
>  _ _Well, I can’t say I feel the same, generally.  
>  _ _But I suppose I’ll have to try it. Next time._
> 
> _Ah. Yes. Next time._
> 
> _Good luck with your exam, Caleb, and good night._
> 
> _Thank you, Kätzchen  
>  _ _You have a good night, too_

*

Once, Essek would have frowned at the endearment, especially after looking up its meaning. But as time passes, he quickly notices how liberal Caleb is with the pet names around his friends. What Essek feels is relief, because it doesn’t set him apart from the others. He’s not special, it’s nothing more than a habit.

He doesn’t know exactly how it started, but by the time the winter break is over it’s unusual for him to spend an entire day without at least hearing from Caleb or his friends. Strangely, they don’t seem to hold it against him when he turns down an invitation to come over to the Mighty Nein’s house (he still hasn’t deciphered the meaning of their collective nickname, but he doesn’t ask: he’s sure someone will tell him eventually, whether he wants it or not) for the millionth time, or to take part in the astonishing variety of activities they’re into.

Since he’s not completely oblivious, he catches up fairly quickly to the fact that some of these activities are organized for his own benefit. Like the time he let Fjord convince him to go swimming, a thing he agreed to on the condition that they’d be alone in the pool. It turns out that Fjord is on a first name basis with the pool manager — and everyone else they meet, which always leaves Essek slightly disturbed — and has almost unlimited access to the facility.

(To his surprise, it turns out to be rather painless, both physically and morally. The water does most of the work, and the feeling of being weightless is rather peaceful. He won’t promise anything, but if Fjord insists, he might do this again.)

A late January sun shines with no warmth on the most recent snowfall when Essek knocks at the Mighty Nein’s door. It’s not until Jester opens it and gasps in delight that he realizes he’s actually here uninvited.

He’s about to apologize, but Jester blinds him with an overjoyed smile. “Essek! Hi! Are you here for one of your study dates with Caleb?”

Essek realizes he’s frowning and schools his face into a more neutral expression. “No. Yes. Actually, I have a book for him.” He shows her the book he’s holding as proof. Caleb would indeed like it, so he doesn’t know why it feels like an excuse when it isn’t, not really.

He doesn’t react to Jester’s narrowed-eye scrutiny and follows her inside when she gives up, taking his shoes off without having to be told. “He’s upstairs. Last room at the top, you can’t miss it.”

After Jester disappears into the living room with an inexplicably suggestive wink, Essek looks at the stairs and sighs. Of course Caleb would be in the highest room of the tallest tower.

He’s never been upstairs, never had any reason to. As he climbs one flight after the other, stepping silently on the polished wood, he passes several other doors, some of which lead to bathrooms or closets, while from behind others come snippets of conversations. Essek goes up until he reaches the last flight of stairs, at the end of which there’s a closed wooden door. He knocks on it, waits for the invitation to come in and opens it.

The only window in the room is a skylight opening in the slanted roof, which bathes the room in a cold wintery light, with motes of dust floating in the air. It’s not much smaller than Essek’s own room at the dorm, but the wooden panelling, the bulky furniture, the rugs on the floor and the piles and piles of books give it a more crammed, cozier feel. The books in particular seem to be a problem: they overflow from the inadequate shelves of the ready-to-assemble bookcase and spill on the floor, the desk, the nightstand and every other horizontal surface, even the bed, where several of them are stacked where the bedframe meets the wall.

There’s a whiteboard, not dissimilar from the one Essek owns, pushed in front of a full-length mirror; he recognizes Caleb’s handwriting in the equations it’s covered in, but there are also scribbles and drawings made by at least a couple of other hands, carefully circled and preserved. In the quick glance he throws around, he also spots a few other details: a small plush cat hanging from a wardrobe handle, a bright orange blanket on the bed. They are not inconsistent with Caleb’s personality, but he recognizes them for what they are: gifts.

Caleb himself is sitting at his desk with a posture that will definitely give him a backache, Frumpkin curled up in his lap and several textbooks open before him. The man and his cat both look at him standing on the threshold, but while the latter goes back to napping with a disinterested flick of his ears, Caleb looks surprised. “Were we supposed to meet today?”

Essek briefly considers lying, telling him he was out for an errand and he just happened to be in the neighbourhood. “Ah… no. I came across this,” and he lifts the book the same way he did with Jester a while ago, “and I thought you might be interested in it. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

His explanation must make sense, to his relief, because Caleb doesn’t question it, just gestures at him. “Come in and close the door, you’re letting all the heat go out.”

The door closes with a soft _click_ and Essek walks across the room to Caleb’s desk. It seems to be the place where dirty mugs go to die, and Essek carefully moves a pile of them aside to put down the book he brought.

Sensing his closeness, Frumpkin lifts his head again and cranes his neck to nose at his hand. Essek strokes his muzzle with the back of a finger. That’s also been happening a lot: the cat would rub his back against Essek’s legs or insinuate his head under Essek’s hand, looking for scratches. He can rarely sit anywhere in the house without finding himself with a lapful of cat. Essek hopes nobody can tell how pleased he is with this turn of events.

When he looks back at Caleb, he frowns at how exhausted he looks. He’s always been handsome in an unkempt and frumpy sort of way, but this can’t be healthy. Not in January, at least, with the exams behind him. “Have you been sleeping?”

Caleb lets himself fall back in his chair and closes his eyes, laying his hands on Frumpkin again. “Yes.”

Essek rolls his eyes. “When’s the last time you’ve had more than five hours of sleep?” When Caleb wrinkles his nose, Essek scoffs. “If you have to think about it, you’re taking a break right now. Sorry, Frumpkin,” he says as he lifts the cat off Caleb’s lap and holds him with one arm, while pulling Caleb up by the elbow with the other hand.

Unlike Frumpkin, Caleb puts up a little resistance. “I only have to look at one more chapter for tomorrow.”

“Then you can easily do it later.” Essek leads him to the bed, where Caleb lies down with a grunt. “You’re no use to anyone, least of all yourself, if you spread yourself too thin. Believe me, I’ve been there.”

His plan is to leave the cat with Caleb and walk away — not too far, maybe he’ll sit on the newly vacated chair and read something. Just to make sure Caleb actually gets some sleep. But as he’s about to leave, he feels Caleb grip his hand. “Maybe so,” he says, “but I’m doing it on my terms.”

Essek wonders briefly if he means there’s been a time when this happened on someone else’s terms. Maybe he’ll ask, some day. Right now, he lets himself be pulled on the bed. Jumping on the covers, Frumpkin stretches and curls up beside Caleb’s socked feet.

Caleb’s hair has fallen all over his forehead and Essek’s hand itches to push it back. Instead, he lies down next to Caleb, settling in with their joined hands between them. There’s barely enough space for the two of them, what with the books and the fact that the mattress is only big enough for one.

The whole time, Caleb keeps watching him with tired, meditative eyes, but he’s blinking more and more slowly. A few hairs are caught on his eyelashes, so Essek finally has an excuse to smooth Caleb’s fringe back, and he lets his hand linger a moment longer than necessary.

His feelings are a strange mixture of contentment and inexplicable restlessness, something similar to the impatience he feels when he’s in front of a problem and the solution isn’t immediately obvious. As he tries to make sense of all this, he watches Caleb fall asleep, which apparently includes a great deal of settling in: fascinated, Essek lets him pull their joined hands under his chin and intertwine their ankles. Essek is reluctant to move, but his joints are going to be acting up if he stays like this for long. For the time being, however, he allows himself to close his eyes and match his breathing to Caleb’s.

Caduceus’s words from almost a month ago come unbidden to his mind. _Nothing else to do. Nowhere else to be._ He can allow himself to be here and do nothing for a short while.

Just to make sure Caleb gets some sleep, he tells himself again.

He’s not sure if he’s woken up by the feeling of being touched, or if waking up is what makes him realize he’s being touched at all. It’s not something he thought he’d be fine with — touching in general, and when he’s asleep in particular — but the fingertips on his temple are so gentle that he doesn’t want them to stop. He must have fallen asleep, because he was dreaming… he doesn’t remember anymore.

He opens his eyes to a room significantly darker than it was when he closed them, and to Caleb’s face, closer than he remembers. His eyes are open as well.

“ _Hallo,_ ” he whispers. “It seems I wasn’t the only one who needed some sleep.”

Essek’s not conscious enough to articulate a protest, but his grunt should be eloquent enough as he closes his eyes again, burying his face in the pillow he’s sharing with Caleb.

He moves carefully, ready for his joints to protest, and he must make a grimace when it inevitably happens, because Caleb takes his hand away. “Are you in pain?”

“I just need to move.” At some point in his sleep he must have flung his arm over Caleb’s waist, and their legs are more tangled than he remembers. Once he’s districated himself, he falls on his back with a sigh. “It’s not bad, it’s just… staying still for long periods of time isn’t always a good idea.” Because he can’t sit, or lie down, or walk, or swim or do anything without his body retaliating. He feels a sudden surge of anger at the thought that, unlike so many other people, he can’t just _live_.

The mattress dips when Caleb props himself up on an elbow. “Can I help?”

Considering what they’ve already done, the shyness Essek feels is ridiculous, but he shakes his head nonetheless. “I’ll be fine.” He bends his knees one after the other, then his ankles, carefully.

He’s grateful that Caleb doesn’t insist, flopping back beside him instead. They look at the ceiling together for a while. Then Caleb raises his right arm, pulling back the sleeve. Essek lets his feet lie on the bed as he blinks at the scar tissue that covers his skin.

“Lab incident,” Caleb says, as if Essek had asked. “Back when I studied in… another place. Which is why I’m happy with focusing on the theoretical, as you put it that one time.” He pulls his sleeve back up, covering his hand up to the knuckles. Just before he does that, Essek notices that the scarring stops at the wrist. “The other arm, too. It’s completely healed, but it still itches so much that I want to tear my own skin off, sometimes.” His voice is neutral, but it catches on the last word, making Essek wonder if ‘completely healed’ is a lie Caleb tells himself, if he believes in it.

Dozens of questions pop up in Essek’s mind. Is the lab incident the reason he has Frumpkin? The reason he moved to Rosohna? But he keeps them for later. “I’m sorry,” he says, honestly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Caleb attempt a shrug. “It’s fine.” He laughs. “No, of course it’s not. You know it better than me. But I make it so, most days.”

There’s not much Essek can answer to that. He would, if he knew the words, if he weren’t afraid that they would flood the room and reveal too much. Turning his head to the side, Essek looks at Caleb’s profile. A moment later, Caleb turns as well, and it’s the most natural thing for Essek to lean in, covering the small distance between them, and kiss him on the lips.

It’s stilted and awkward and bad. It’s not how Essek would have imagined their first kiss, if he had imagined it at all. After two long seconds, during which Caleb stays completely still, Essek pulls back.

At least, Caleb doesn’t look surprised or disgusted. His expression is so blank that Essek doesn’t even find it hard to pretend nothing has happened.

Especially when Caleb takes in a breath, hesitates, and visibly changes his mind about what he was going to say. “Do you want something from the kitchen? Coffee? Tea?” He sits up, dislodging the sleeping Frumpkin from the foot of the bed. The cat chirps in outrage as he jumps on the floor.

Without waiting for an answer, Caleb walks to the door and opens it. He’s not fleeing, exactly, but he doesn’t look back. With a long, quiet sigh, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and regret, Essek stands up as well and follows him out of the room.

Caleb doesn’t speak as they walk down, and Essek is grateful for it, both because his legs are still waking up and he’s focusing really hard on the steps and because he’s just as committed to pretend nothing happened. The thought feels like wearing an old armor he temporarily discarded. It’s remarkable how easy it fits.

As it often happens in this house, people are around. Voices lift from downstairs and, when they walk into the kitchen, they find Fjord sitting at the table as Caduceus tends to the plants over the sink. They stop talking as the two of them enter the room, Caleb going straight to the stove, Essek hovering in the doorway.

“Oh, hello. Jester told me you came by.” If he senses that something’s off, as he usually does, Caduceus doesn’t let it show.

Essek nods at them. “I’m sorry for the interruption. You were… conversing.”

Fjord looks at him like he’s made a funny joke. “Well, have a seat so you can _converse_ as well.”

A cupboard closes with a loud thud and Caleb turns towards Caduceus. “May I borrow some of your tea?”

“Of course. Do you want to try something new?” This last question is directed at Essek, who shrugs helplessly.

Pulling out a tin out of a different cabinet than the one Caleb just closed, Caduceus hands it to him. “Two teaspoons each, steep for seven minutes, do not let the water boil.” Then he turns around and nods to Fjord, who tilts his head inquisitively but follows him out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

Essek thinks about sitting down, but he doesn’t want to look like he’s being served, so he walks up to the sink, looking at Caduceus’s plants. He doesn’t know anything about horticulture, but they seem healthy and thriving. He never noticed their smell before. Curious, he rubs a plump, textured leaf from the plant closer to him between thumb and forefinger and smells his fingertips. Mint. “I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone,” he says out loud, as Caleb puts the kettle on.

Caleb doesn’t answer. With his back to Essek, he opens the tin and counts the teaspoons. When he’s filled one of the two tea strainers halfway, he turns to Essek. “Do you mind if I try something?”

He looks so torn that Essek doesn’t even feel self-conscious to be caught clearly staring at him. He nods.

Forgetting the tea, Caleb steps forward. “Could you… close your eyes, please?”

It’s not hard for Essek to imagine his reaction to anyone else asking him that question. He hesitates even now, with someone he trusted enough to fall asleep with. He closes his eyes, and the ghost of Caleb’s face stays impressed on his eyelids.

A long moment passes before he feels Caleb’s fingertips on his lips. They trace the lower edge of his bottom lip, a sensation that’s just this side of ticklish, and for some godforsaken reason Essek feels on the cusp of a breakthrough, even if he doesn’t know what he’s about to discover. His brain lights up with the same energy he feels when he’s about to connect the dots, to bring order and sense where there was just a messy heap of unrelated data.

A second passes.

Caleb’s hand moves from his lips, tracing the edge of his jaw and settling on his nape, where Essek keeps his hair shorter. Essek’s eyes are still closed when Caleb’s lips touch the place where his fingertips were just a moment ago.

Essek doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he keeps very still. Something went wrong upstairs, even if he doesn’t know what; but now Caleb is kissing him, so maybe... 

Before he can finish the thought, Caleb pulls back and Essek blinks his eyes open just in time to catch the frown on his friend’s face.

His friend, that he has now kissed twice. Well, that he kissed _once_ , and that he has just been kissed _by_.

As he’s processing this, Caleb’s hand slips from Essek’s neck as he withdraws. “I’m… sorry.”

Before he can move, Essek grabs Caleb’s wrist, his fingers closing over the cuff of his sweater. Right where, as he now knows, the scars end. He waits for Caleb to pull back, if he wants, to stop him when he takes a step forward, leaning closer and closer, but he doesn’t.

He meets him halfway instead.

It’s not as bad as the first time, but there’s nothing really transcendent to it. Just body parts coming into contact. It’s a rather basic process. They need to tilt their head a little so their lips can slot together the right way. Essek leans on the edge of the sink for support with the hand that’s not holding Caleb’s wrist. It would be so easy to lose one’s balance like this. That’s probably why Caleb wraps his other arm around Essek’s waist, pulling him closer.

Another variable comes into play when Caleb opens his mouth to suck on Essek’s lower lip, and the event horizon is suddenly a little vaster than before, a little more interesting. Experimentally, Essek brushes Caleb’s upper lip with the tip of his tongue, and he can’t help but feel pleased with the sharp intake of breath he causes.

As Caleb pulls him even closer, their torsos now flush against each other, he nips at Essek’s bottom lip, which Essek has to admit is a brilliant idea. He’s about to retaliate in the same way, when simultaneously the kettle whistles and heavy footsteps come down the stairs, just outside the kitchen door.

When Beau comes in, Caleb is tending to the kettle as Essek is completely absorbed by something on the ceiling. They’re not in opposite corners of the room, but the distance between them is not suspicious, either. Everything looks normal.

At least Essek hopes.

Without looking at either of them, Beauregard grabs an apple and hops on the counter next to where Caleb is making tea, biting loudly into the fruit. “It’s almost time for the afternoon session,” she says with her mouth full.

Caleb sighs. “My answer is the same as before. I’m not practicing with you.”

Essek looks at her with his eyes narrowed. Knowing Beauregard, it’s bound to be something violent. “What do you practice?”

She looks at him as if she just noticed his presence. “Yoga,” she answers in a defiant tone.

“Whatever she does, that’s not yoga,” Caleb replies, grunting when she hits him on the arm with the back of her hand.

“It’s called Ashtanga and it is yoga, you nerd. Look it up.” Beauregard eyes Essek, as if assessing him. “If your hot professor here wants to join, he’s welcome to do so.”

As Essek rolls his eyes and is about to tell her once again that he’s not a professor, two tea strainers fall into their cups with more energy than necessary. 

“You’re not pulling him into this, Beauregard,” states Caleb.

“Let the man speak for himself.” She leans forward, putting her elbows on her knees as she speaks to Essek. “Look, Jester told me that exercising is good for your… whatever you have going on, and Fjord was surprisingly cagey but I think swimming went well, right?” Another crunch as she takes a bite and keeps talking with her mouth full of apple. “I’m going to go easy on you, promise. If you don’t feel like it’s working, you stop. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity,” he deadpans, but he knows he’s going to accept. Beauregard might seem brash and reckless, but he recognizes a chess player when he sees one. This is another opening, an outstretched hand, a chance to show trust on both sides. And, in perfect Beauregard fashion, it comes with a small side dish of indignity.

Or at least that’s what she must think. Essek won’t tell her he’s been practicing yoga since he was a child until it’s absolutely necessary.

*

It’s only a matter of time before something goes wrong. Finding out what Caleb’s and Beauregard’s ties with the Academy are is an imperative, but diggin up information without anyone being the wiser won’t be easy. He’s not procrastinating, is what he means: just waiting for the right opening.

Things have gone well so far, though. He’s a good juggler, when there’s something he cares about at stake. Several things, in this case. After all, he has successfully kept his deal with the Soltryce Academy a secret from Dr. Kryn and everyone else at Rosohna University for years now. Information in exchange for funding is a good bargain, and it’s not his fault if the respective administrators are too shortsighted to make such a thing possible above-board. His research is the only thing that really matters, and if he has to lie and cover his tracks to pursue it, so be it.

Unfortunately for his studies, his focus is quite scattered at the moment, since, after that afternoon, there’s much more kissing. It’s like they’re conducting an experiment to see how far they can go without anyone noticing what’s going on. They kiss in the car in front of Caleb’s home when Essek drops him off at night, quickly and urgently. In the sunny afternoons they spend studying in the kitchen, the rare moments nobody’s around. And late one evening in the assistants room, when Essek was the last one to leave, among cables and stacks of papers, before Caleb pushes him against a wall and goes down on his knees to give him the most magnificent, brain-melting head he’s ever received.

And of course they kiss in their respective rooms whenever they can be alone together behind closed doors without arousing suspicion. Sometimes it leads to other, more demanding activities, but quick pecks whenever one of them walks by the other and lazy make out sessions during their study breaks also become the norm.

The fact that nobody has caught them yet is astounding and, Essek has to admit, more than a little thrilling. The closer anyone gets to figure out something’s up is — quite predictably — Beauregard, who catches him in the unusual act of daydreaming in the study hall a few days after the first kiss. He’s alone, waiting for Caleb, thinking about Caleb, and he doesn’t hear her walk up behind his seat until she slaps her hand on his shoulder and startles him by saying: “What’s the deal, Thelyss?”

“I don’t know what ‘deal’ you mean,” he answers coolly, recovering from the small heart attack he just suffered.

Taking a chair and sitting on it backwards, Beauregard crosses her arms on the backrest. A few people turn their heads towards her, but she ignores them, and Essek does the same. The time to fear for his reputation in the study room has long passed. “So, you’re quite young to be a professor, right?”

“For the last time, I’m not a professor,” he corrects her absent-mindedly.

She waves his answer away. “I’m just saying, you must be really smart. You know that Caleb was also a kind of child prodigy?”

If there’s a thing Essek’s learned about Beauregard, is that that the easiest way out a conversation with her is through. “I did not, but I’m not surprised.”

“Yeah, he’s really cagey about all that, so I was wondering how much he’d told you. He doesn’t make friends very easily.”

“I noticed. That’s something we have in common.”

“You have lots in common, it seems.” She looks about to add something else, but then she glances over his shoulder. “Well, looks like I’m gonna have to vacate the premises.” She leaves the chair in an unnecessary complicated fashion, vaultin her leg over the backrest and walking past a puzzled Caleb, who’s making his way to the table. “Have fun, nerds,” she says, punching his arm in lieu of a goodbye.

Essek’s colleagues are polite enough to refrain from commenting (to his face, at least) on the fact that he has friends, but he feels their stares on him all the same the day he walks into their shared office with several other people in tow. He prevents any objections with a curt “They’re with me” as he boots up his computer.

What happened is that Essek’s phone pinged with a gravitational-wave event alert while he was having lunch with Caleb, Beauregard and Jester. As he told Caleb what was happening, the others had stared at them with blank expressions.

“A star is exploding,” Caleb explained, to gasps and more stares around the table.

“Technically, it exploded a long time ago,” Essek specified.

Jester was frowning, probably worried about the star’s wellbeing. “And what can you do about it?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t sound like an emergency,” asked Beauregard, arching an eyebrow.

Essek counted silently to five. “We are going to watch it explode.”

He expects his friends to get impatient and give up after the first hour of staring at a screen, waiting for data to show up, but the excitement from the astrophysics in the room — busy monitoring the neutrino pulses or exchanging information with observatories around the world — must be contagious, because at one point Essek notices Beauregard squinting at his screen, trying to understand what she’s looking at.

He points at a dark speck in a field of gray. “That’s our supernova.” His hand is trembling slightly, and he feels a little drunk. “The last time we observed something like this was four hundred years ago.”

Beauregard nods slowly. “Okay, that’s cool.”

“It’s so tiny.” Jester gets so close to the screen that she almost touches it with her nose, and before Essek can explain that the supernova’s progenitor was most likely a supergiant, therefore several hundred times bigger than the Sun, she asks: “Are you going to name it?”

“The International Astronomical Union is going to name it,” Caleb explains, putting a hand on her shoulder with easy familiarity, “as soon as the observatories send in their reports.”

“The naming conventions are very strict,” Essek adds. “It’s going to be a string of letters and numbers.”

Jester straightens with a huff and crosses her arms. “Conventions schmonventions. I’m going to call it Nugget. Because it’s so small and cute,” she explains, pointing at the screen, when they all look at her.

Essek’s exasperated sigh is somewhat ruined by the fact that there’s a smile on his face, and he just shakes his head when he makes eye contact with an equally smiling Caleb. 

*

The chill of winter is starting to leave room to milder temperatures when Jester asks Essek to bring her and Beau — as the latter gave him permission to call her at the end of the supernova day — to the airport. It’s not the first time one of them asks him for a ride, and it’s not the first time he surprises himself by saying yes, either.

“Aren’t you curious to know why we’re going there?” Jester teases while they’re on the highway.

“I can only assume you are about to tell me,” Essek says, eyes on the road.

“You have three guesses!”

From the backseat where she’s sulking, Beau makes an impatient noise. “We’re going to pick up a friend.” She ignores Jester blowing a raspberry at her. “Couldn’t you go a bit faster? We’re not going to make it in time.”

Essek looks at her in the rearview mirror. He assumed she was in a mood because she lost the passenger seat to Jester, who was faster to call shotgun, but maybe there’s more to it. “We are not going to be late,” he answers calmly, and he smiles a little when he hears Beau grinding her teeth.

Beau remains snippier than usual for the whole journey, discouraging even Jester from making conversation and playing road trip games. When Essek pulls over in front of the arrivals, she doesn’t even wait for the car to stop before she opens the door and steps out.

Jester pats his arm. “We’ll be right back, Essek. Don’t go away.”

“I won’t… Where would I…” He stops when Jester touches his nose with a loud _boop!_ letting him know she was joking. He waves her out of the car. “Go, before I change my mind.”

“ _Thank you you’re the best I love you!_ ” Jester tells him as she jumps out of the car, closes the door behind her and turns around to blow him a kiss, as he wonders how many other people she ordinarily leaves in her wake wondering what hit them, or if it’s just him.

Through the large glass panels of the terminal’s front, he can keep an eye on her and Beau, who walks back and forth. Her restless pacing is eventually interrupted by the appearance of the tallest woman Essek has ever seen. Even at a distance, she’s striking, with her long black and white hair and imposing presence.

By now, Essek has heard enough about Yasha that he can safely guess her identity. If he had any doubt, however, Beau dispels them by running towards her, who acts completely unsurprised as she puts down her suitcase and catches Beau when she jumps, wrapping arms and legs around her. A moment later, Jester saunters up and hugs them both.

By the time the three of them reach the car — with Jester carrying Yasha’s luggage after what looked like some gentle bullying — Beau is mostly back to her usual self, except for the fact that she’s holding Yasha’s hand with a defiant expression on her face, as if challenging people to say something.

Yasha, on her part, has a soft smile on her face and introduces herself in an even softer voice, projecting an aura of gentleness. In a show of generosity, Jester offers her the passenger seat, but she refuses and folds herself on the backseat with Beau. Whether Essek likes her or not is pointless in the grand scheme of things; nevertheless, he can’t help but be drawn to her quiet, powerful presence.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” she asks him during the journey back. “I think I’ve heard your surname before.”

Essek thinks about what she’s learned about her so far — tall, of few words, likes flowers, plays soccer at varsity level — and it clicks. “Ah, you might know my brother Verin.”

“Oh, that’s who you reminded me of. How is he?” Yasha asks, just as Jester turns towards him with a gasp, yelling, “You have a _brother_?”

Essek wishes he had bitten his tongue. The less his friends know about his outgoing, handsome, popular younger brother, the better, so he changes the subject and pretends he doesn’t see Jester glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. “How long are you planning on staying in Rosohna, Yasha?”

“A bit,” it’s her noncommittal answer.

Forgetting her question, Jester _whoop_ s loudly. “Caduceus is going to make something really special tonight for dinner. Essek! You must come too. Please?”

He sighs. He has things to do, articles to read, a supernova to research. He glares at the road, because Jester’s puppy eyes have no power over him if he ignores them. “I don’t know, Jester.”

He stays silent for the rest of the trip, happy to let Jester fill the silence with a mostly made-up tale of how Essek himself started spending time with the Mighty Nein. Once, he looks in the rearview mirror and sees Yasha, her cheek resting affectionately on Beau’s head that’s leaning on her shoulder, looking at him. They exchange a short but meaningful glance, and Essek feels an odd sense of kinship. He can’t be sure, of course, but she seems like someone who understands how it feels to be swept up by friends when you least expect it.

The chaos generated by Yasha’s arrival at the house, with stories being exchanged and sleeping accommodations to sort out, would provide a perfect excuse to just slip out and drive back to campus. Instead, Essek finds himself sitting in a quiet corner in the kitchen, waiting for a certain redhead to pass by as he scrolls an article on his phone, understanding a sentence out of three.

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are, you know.”

The voice is so unexpectedly close that he almost drops his phone. Looking to his left, he sees that the empty chair next to him is now occupied by Veth, who’s looking at him with her arms crossed and a cocked eyebrow.

“Veth. I didn’t know you were here,” he says, as his heart rate slows down.

He’s never asked outright, both because it’s not his business and he doesn’t care, but all the conversations he’s overheard led him to deduce that Veth doesn’t live with the rest of the Mighty Nein, commuting instead between Rosohna and Nicodranas for some reason, but she’s still very much part of their weird family.

He doesn’t dislike her — he doesn’t dislike _any_ of them, not even Beau, rocky start notwithstanding — but he’s always been a bit wary of how protective she is of Caleb, fearing she would see right through Essek. It’s a good thing he’s not openly dating Caleb, because a shovel talk from Veth is not something Essek looks forward to.

His blood freezes as he eventually absorbs the meaning of Veth’s words. Is this what is about to happen?

She clicks her tongue, not looking at him but at the kitchen door, where they can see a still chattering Jester walking backwards in front of Yasha, who’s about to carry her suitcase upstairs with Beau clinging to her back. Essek had no idea Beau was capable of such shameless displays of affection, but since Yasha showed up she’s been glued to her. It makes her look more human.

His head whips to the side when Veth starts talking again. “I was wary at first, too.” Her voice is low, but he can hear her perfectly. “Caleb and I, we are not the most… trusting people. We’d been on our own for a long time. Has Caleb told you?”

Essek is so anxious that his brain takes a moment to register the question. “He hasn’t.”

Veth nods. “He will. Give him time. Anyway, we were on our own for a while. It’s a lot of responsibility, being someone’s one and only friend, you know? Still beats being alone, though. I know you’re still pretending you don’t care about them, about all this,” she adds, gesturing vaguely at the kitchen. “It’s okay. I know it takes time. You will get there.” She pats him on the arm as she leaves the chair, and when Essek blinks at her, unsure of what just happened, she grins at his confusion. “You’re a smart young man. Maybe even smarter than my Caleb, though certainly not than my Luc.” She leans in conspiratorially. “He’s the most intelligent four-year-old on the whole planet.”

Essek arches his eyebrows. “You have a son.” That explains a lot.

With a proud smile on her face, Veth nods. “Yes. He lives with my husband, all the way over to Nicodranas. Stuff happened, a while ago.” Essek can only imagine what’s behind those words. He remembers her talking about her lowest point, and thinks that maybe they’re connected. “Things are working out, now, and the important thing is that Yeza and Luc are safe and happy.”

Then she pats his arm again and walks away, and it’s a good thing, because Essek has stopped breathing.

He walks outside, desperate for some fresh air, but it doesn’t make him think any clearer. All he can think about is that name, Yeza. He remembers it from the newspapers. No headlines: it was a small, local story of alleged corporate espionage. He knew he shouldn’t, but he looked for them nonetheless and he read them all, the articles about the people who were fired because of him.

*

\---conversation with **Caleb Widogast** \---

> _I apologize, but I can’t make it today._
> 
> _Are you unwell? Is there something I can do?_
> 
> _Unfortunately not. I’m feeling a bit under the weather, is all._
> 
> _Do you want company?  
>  _ _You have been typing for several minutes there Thelyss  
>  _ _Very unlike you to take this long to answer such a simple question  
>  _ _Unless you’re composing an article  
>  _ _In which case just send me a link once it’s been peer reviewed and published_

With a muffled curse, Essek deletes the twelfth reply he’s typed and sends _Bring your cat._ before tossing his phone on the covers and burying his face in the pillow.

Medicine has come a long way since he was first diagnosed, and some days he can almost forget he has a chronic illness. This is not one of those days.

Plus, he can’t stop thinking about his conversation with Veth yesterday. He wasn’t meant to know about the firings, but someone forgot to delete the conversation history from an email — nothing explicitly damning, but clear enough if you can read between the lines. He never brought it up, not with his contacts at the Academy, not with anyone else. He wasn’t meant to know that his actions had real, negative consequences for real, innocent people, and he knew the reason: what if it discouraged him, made him think twice about their deal? The incident never repeated itself, and Essek was grateful for the ignorance.

But now he can’t afford ignorance anymore, can he?

He cannot deal with this right now, though, as he’s focusing all his energies on not throwing up. He can’t sleep, but he’s fallen into an uneasy doze when he hears a knock on the door. When he finally manages to drag himself out of bed, unlock the door and open it, he makes out the vague shape of Caleb with Frumpkin on his shoulders.

“You don't look good, Kätzchen.”

“I don't _feel_ good,” Essek complains, as he goes back to bed. He leaves the door open, trusting them to take it from there. “Some of my meds pack more of a punch. I'm sorry I’m not going to be much company today.” He sighs, curling up among the unmade sheets as he hears the door close. He’s not used to having people around when he’s out of it, but he hopes Caleb will forgive him the breach in etiquette. He cracks open the eyes he just closed. “Are you doing something with that cat of yours?”

The next thing he knows is a warm, furry weight on the mattress. As Frumpkin settles in his arms, Essek feels a hand push back his hair from his forehead. Caleb’s hands are colder than usual, which is not unpleasant. Between that and the purring cat tucked under his chin, Essek feels the world slowly shifting towards the tolerable again. “It’s a fair price to pay,” he whispers, letting his eyes close and his consciousness drift towards a welcome oblivion.

The last thing he hears before everything goes black is, “I’m sorry you have to pay it.”

*

“Are we there yet?”

“Beau, stop, you’re squishing me.”

“I just want to take a look, I can’t see shit from here. Is that the Milky Way?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s just light pollution.”

Hands on the wheel, Essek inhales deeply. The bumpy dirt road he’s driving on became more of a suggestion than an actual track a few minutes ago, and the lack of any lighting whatsoever means that the high beams are the only thing keeping them from going off-road in some field, or worse.

On the passenger seat, Cad speaks so low only Essek can hear him. “There you go. Deep breaths.”

“At least we won’t get a ticket out here,” Essek mumbles when he’s finished counting to ten.

“Hey!” Beau shouts from the backseat. “This was your idea.”

It most certainly was not, but Essek has better things to do than arguing. Sure, he absent-mindedly answered Jester’s question about the best places to go stargazing, the other day, but he never suggested a trip there, much less that they go camping.

Because that’s what he’s doing now, apparently. Essek doesn’t know how or why he keeps letting himself be dragged along (although it may be one of the following reasons:

  1. when Jester first mentioned stargazing, Yasha didn’t say anything, but her eyes widened just a bit;
  2. Caleb wasn’t against the idea, and he started looking for astronomical charts on his phone;
  3. some days Essek himself forgets stars are not just numbers on a screen).



So here he is now: on a mild, clear spring night, with a handful of friends, on their way to a place he has only foggy memories of from his childhood. He’s not an outdoorsy man and he certainly wasn’t an outdoorsy kid, and he remembers with faint distaste the hikes his father brought him and his brother on. Verin was the happiest child in the world during those outings, while Essek only wondered where they could stop and when they would go back, and spent the breaks stubbornly refusing to look at the plants and the wildlife his father pointed out, reading the book he brought along instead.

He wonders what his child self would think if he saw him now. He wishes he could ask him for directions, because his memory has clearly deteriorated with time.

They’re a good forty-five minutes from the city, and the idea of turning the car around and admitting defeat starts to become more and more appealing, when the beams hit a sign for the Vermaloc Natural Reserve. Essek sighs in relief as he reaches the crossroad he remembers. “We’re almost there,” he says out loud.

He winces at the loud cheers from the backseat as he turns left. There are no parking areas, properly speaking, so he goes as far as he can and parks on the side of the road, right before the trees start.

The engine is still on when people start opening the doors jumping down, gathering tents, backpacks and supplies. With a huge pile of blankets on his lap, Caduceus takes his time unfolding his long limbs and getting out of the car. Meanwhile, Essek opens the door on his side and carefully stretches his legs. It’s been a long, tense drive and it’s going to be a minute before he will be able to stand on his own two feet, let alone walk to the lake in the middle of the meadow.

He squints when a flashlight almost blinds him. “Whoops.” Jester lowers the torch, aiming it to the ground. “Where to, now, O’ Captain?” 

Blinking away the motes of light lingering in his vision, Essek points to the road ahead. “Five minutes or so in that direction, you can’t miss it. You go ahead, I’m going to join you in a moment.”

Instead of insisting they wait for him, Jester clicks her heels and salutes. “Aye aye!” She knows that he made the request because he doesn’t like being accommodated, even if Essek never expressed his feelings outright.

“Don’t wait too long, or we’ll eat all the snacks,” adds Beau, who’s already on her way.

As he walks in front of him, a tent under his arm and a canvas bag on the opposite shoulder, Caleb puts a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want company?”

Before he can answer, Yasha closes the trunk and walks up to them. “I’ll wait with you, Essek, if you don’t mind. I can’t feel my legs either.”

Essek nods. “You go ahead,” he tells Caleb, who squeezes his shoulder before following Beau, Jester and Caduceus.

As she leans on the closed car door next to him, Essek wonders if Yasha really needs a break from the car ride or if it was just an excuse to talk to him alone, though she doesn’t strike him as a person who needs excuses to say what’s on her mind. For now, he’s happy to enjoy the comfortable silence between them as his legs remember how they work again.

Yasha is the first to break the silence. “You know, I grew up not far from here. I went stargazing with my fiancée all the time, but we never went this far north.”

“I thought I recognized the accent.” He hesitates, because saying what’s on his mind would bring the small talk into more serious territory, but he has a feeling Yasha won’t mind. “I heard the others talking, implying— but I never asked outright, so… You mentioned your fiancée,” is what he ends up saying, lamely.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yasha crossing her arms. “Yes. She died a few years ago.”

 _Oh._ Yasha’s matter-of-fact tone shouldn’t surprise him, but he’s still caught off guard. Out of habit, he starts doing some quick math: Yasha looks in her mid-twenties, a bit too young to be engaged and to have suffered such a tragedy. He shakes his head, shoving his calculations away; that’s not important right now. “I’m sorry for your loss, Yasha.”

“Thank you.” Her quiet tone is even more solemn than usual. “They say time fixes things, but it’s not true. It blurs them a bit, but something that meant so much to you stays there forever.” There’s a smile in her voice when she adds, “It’s not a bad thing.”

“You build on it,” Essek says, nodding, then he grimaces. “At least I imagine. I don’t want to assume.”

“No, you’re spot on. I wouldn’t be the same if not for her. I couldn’t be the way I am here and now. I probably couldn’t be the person Beau needs.”

There’s something Essek doesn’t quite understand about Yasha yet, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words. All his life he’s kept people at a distance without even thinking about it. He thought he knew how these things work: the closer someone is, the more they become a distraction, a liability. The thought of gaining strength from a loved one, even after they’re gone, and of allowing yourself to love again after such a tragedy… “I see,” he says eventually.

Yasha’s answer is a soft laugh. “No, you don’t. You still take things for granted, when they’re not. One day we’ll all be dead. What matters the most to you in the face of that?”

Looking up at the sky, where a few stars can already be seen, Essek takes a deep breath. That should be an easier question than it actually is. “Is that why you’re planning on staying?”

He expects a non committal answer, and he will respect it if Yasha decides not to confirm his deduction. But she just laughs again. “I haven’t told Beau yet, even though I think she suspects it. I still need to take care of some paperwork, and find a place to stay, but… yes, I’m moving here. My former coach and mentor weren’t happy, but, you know. It’s not their happiness I care about.”

“Our university has a decent sports program, or so they tell me.” Essek places his feet on the ground experimentally, then he stands up.

There’s a faint thud when Yasha kicks a pebble with her boot. “I don’t know that I’ll go back to university.”

She doesn’t elaborate, and Essek doesn’t ask. It sounds like a personal decision that should be discussed with someone whose judgement she trusts, and not a near stranger like him. Nevertheless. “I don’t think you should worry about finding a place to stay. In fact, I don’t think your friends would allow you to move out.”

The affection and amusement in Yasha’s laugh resonate with something inside him that he can’t name. Her feet make a scrunching sound on the gravel as she pushes herself from the car door. “Shall we go?”

As they make their way on the path, Yasha carries the group’s supplies of bedrolls while Essek shines the torchlight on the ground. She slows down her long strides to accommodate Essek’s pace, and he lets her without complaining. The silence between them is comfortable, and when they reach the end of the woods, where the trees give way to the meadow he remembers, he’s pleased to hear her stunned gasp.

It is quite a sight, even better than his memory of it. The lake at the center of the grassy clearing is small, but its smooth surface is a perfect mirror, and it almost looks like a bit of sky melted and pooled on earth.

They walk on, guided by the light of the bonfire the others have lit near the lakeshore. Looking down at the people around the bonfire, he’s struck by the thought that they seem at the same time within reach and hopelessly far away as those stars. After all, he’s just here because he’s driving, isn’t he? He might as well go home and, as long as he comes by to pick them all up tomorrow, they won’t even notice his absence.

He’s not looking forward to driving home alone, though. And he’s getting cold.

When he reaches the bonfire, he’s immediately given a blanket, a couple of marshmallows on a stick and a place to sit between Caleb and Yasha. Before long, he forgets to feel like an intruder as he’s engrossed in a tale Caduceus is telling about his siblings. As all sorts of drinks are passed back and forth, the peaceful quiet of the woods is filled with a back and forth between Jester and Beau about some books they’ve made each other read, and as they discuss their plot in detail Essek feels simultaneously dismayed and curious.

When everyone’s had their fill of toasted marshmallows and other snacks, Jester declares it’s time they put out the fire. “Essek, can we see Nugget from here?”

Pretending he doesn’t hear Caleb’s muffled laugh beside him, Essek shakes his head apologetically. “I’m afraid not, Jester.”

“Oh.” Jester’s dismay lasts only a few moments. “Will you show us _all_ the constellations, then?”

“I don’t know anything about them, I’m sorry.” Hearing her disappointed moan, Essek adds: “You can make up your own. I’m sure nobody will object.”

“Essek! That is a _great_ idea!”

Getting on his feet, Caleb pats his shoulder. “I hope you’re happy with the monster you’ve just created.”

Not long after, Essek is lying on his back, looking at the sky. He can hear his friends talking not very far from where he spread his blanket, but he can’t make out the words. They’re all scattered on the grass or sitting near the shore, and slowly the chatter turns into whispers and then into silence. The only noises are the distant sound of the water lapping at the pebbles on the shore, the crickets, the wind rustling through the branches and the tall grass.

Even if he dedicated all his life to the stars, he rarely sees them if not through a screen, or as data to be plotted. As he was busy observing their life cycle, mapping their journey through the cosmos and the way they interact with each other, he almost forgot how pretty they are, how humbling it feels to be under them with nothing in between.

After a while, Essek sits up. Even in the starlit darkness, it's not hard to find a lonely figure lying on a blanket, on the top of a little knoll not far from the lakeshore.

When Essek settles down next to him, Caleb doesn’t flinch. “How did the constellation thing work for Jester? I lost the thread after a while.”

“The last time I heard her, she was trying to convince Beau that the Golden Dick was a thing.”

Essek laughs despite himself and looks at Caleb’s profile, painted in shadows. His hair shines black and silver in the starlight. He looks carved into the night, and when he also looks at Essek, the only part of his face he can make out is the white in his eyes.

With a deep, tired sigh, Caleb leans closer, until he’s resting his head on Essek’s shoulder. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you told me that morning,” he says after a while. Essek waits for him to specify which morning, since there have been a few of them, now. “I was a brilliant kid, too, you know? Not a genius like you must have been, but pretty smart.”

“Caleb, you don’t have to…” Essek says, when the silence starts feeling too long. He suspects where this is going.

But Caleb interrupts him. “Not long after I enrolled at the Soltryce Academy, I was selected for a program that offered special tutoring to brilliant young minds, or so they said.” His voice is a hushed monotone, as if this was a prepared speech, or a fairytale, and not his life story. “Something called the Cerberus Assembly – don't bother looking them up, the name is unofficial as they are. I certainly didn't look into them enough before accepting, but I was young and ambitious and my parents were so proud of me. To make a long, sad story short, they made… unsavory dealings in high places. The military, the government, I never found out where exactly, but when you keep your business this secret it cannot be good, right? In my partial defense, as I said, I was very young. I didn’t realize what sort of weapons we were creating. _Scheisse_ , I didn’t even realize they were weapons. I was just a child, happy to tinker with the best toys in the world.”

A pit opens in Essek’s stomach at these words, and he thinks he’s about to be sick. He holds his breath as Caleb goes on.

“The lab accident I mentioned when I showed you my scars… it wasn't an accident. I broke down. I set my lab on fire. Months and months of work from me and my team, wrecked. I hadn’t planned it, it just happened. I think it was the pain that made me come to myself, when my coat caught fire. I never went to the hospital. I ran. I left the city, the country, changed my name, lived hand-to-mouth for a while, doing the odd job in places that played fast and loose with the law. I didn’t even try too hard to stay alive, back then. It just happened.”

A few dots connect in Essek’s mind — why he found no records of Caleb online, Frumpkin’s paperwork missing — but mainly he feels angry. Not at Caleb, of course, but _for_ him. He doesn’t know why: anger is useless, it can’t change anything, and yet. He pulls Caleb closer, until his face is buried in Caleb’s hair, until he’s all Essek can smell and see and feel.

And Caleb settles against him, fitting in Essek’s arms like he belongs there. When he goes on, Essek feels his warm breath on his skin. “When Veth and I met, we lifted each other up. I got help, we both got it. I found a sponsor who helped me turn a new leaf and get my papers in order, or most of them. Ms. Vysoren helped me change my name officially and gave me a chance to be back on my feet. And then Veth and I met our new friends, our new family, who somehow convinced me I could to do something worthwhile with myself. We moved here, and I met you.” There’s a short silence. “And that, in short, is the story of my life.”

There are so many things Essek wants to say, but he can’t. He wants to tell him that he doesn’t deserve all this suffering. That Essek knew the Cerberus Assembly was involved in some shady business when he made a deal with them, but he didn’t care enough to look into it. That he will break contact with them as soon as it’s safe for him to do so. That he knows he’s a despicable human being and he never made an effort to change. He didn’t have a reason to. “Have you… been home since?”

Caleb’s hair tickles Essek’s nose when he shakes his head. “Home is here in Rosohna, with the Nein. I haven’t seen or contacted my parents since the day of the fire.”

“You should.” Essek speaks before the rational, cautious part of his brain can prevent him. He’s just selfish: he cannot go back home, where he’s not wanted. But Caleb can, maybe. He presses his cheek on the top of Caleb’s head. “I overstepped. I apologize.”

“No. No, you’re right. I will before it’s too late, I promise.”

In the silence that follows, he swears he can hear Caleb’s heartbeat, or maybe it’s his own. He can’t tell anymore.

*

The next time they’re in Essek’s room after that conversation, he tries something new.

The thing is, they’ve had a lot of sex in the past few months, at least if you consider how busy they both are. Essek has come to accept how messy and logistically complicated it can be. He’d been worried about his inexperience and the mishaps and the cramps and the noises and a million other things.

But his concerns are soothed by the fact that not only Caleb has never mocked him or begrudged him for being less than perfect — and Essek extends the same courtesy to him, of course; but Caleb — who takes the initiative almost every time, and asks questions upon questions about what Essek liked and didn’t like, and remembers every answer and every detail, so much so that Essek is beginning to suspect there are spreadsheets somewhere — is criminally reticent when it comes to the things _he_ likes.

That’s a pattern Essek has observed regularly. He remembers Beau telling him how slow Caleb is when it comes to opening up. He thinks that Caleb is used to taking care of other people, but he doesn’t know what to do when the roles are reversed. It’s not that he doesn’t receive love and care from his friends: Essek has seen Veth fixing his scarf so it actually covers his neck, Jester baking his favourite cupcakes on Sunday, Cad bringing him unprompted cups of tea. But Caleb’s reaction at every act of kindness is that of a stray cat being petted for the first time, as if each of them, however small and offhanded, were an unexpected gentleness he doesn’t deserve.

Essek has gathered enough data that he feels confident in conducting this experiment. Usually, he would be the one pinned on the mattress as Caleb goes down on him, and later he will let Essek jerk him off, or kiss him as he comes in his own fist. And it’s not like imagining all this unfolding doesn’t make Essek’s blood sing in anticipation, but tonight he’s going to test his theory.

It starts off well, because the light gasp Caleb makes when Essek rolls them over and straddles him is followed by a curious, challenging smile. As Essek kisses it away, he maneuvers until he manages to unfasten Caleb’s pants, but taking them off requires him to break the kiss.

“What are you doing?” To Essek’s relief, Caleb doesn’t sound alarmed, just interested.

When Caleb’s pants are finally on the floor, Essek presses kiss after lingering kiss on his thigh, then he looks up at him. “Sucking you off,” he answers, nonchalantly.

He keeps looking as Caleb goes very still, just like Essek anticipated. Essek can empathize with how difficult it is to verbalize things, sometimes, and by now he hopes he’s able to interpret the cues Caleb offers him.

He waits. Not long ago, he would have added something about how much he himself would enjoy it, but he stays quiet.

Caleb stares at the ceiling for a long moment. Then he nods. “Okay.”

This is more encouragement than Essek was hoping for, and he presses another long kiss on Caleb’s thigh, hoping it conveys his gratitude for the trust he’s been given.

There’s something unexpectedly reverential in it, something that reminds him vaguely of worship and rituals. When he finishes undressing Caleb, slowly and with care, it feels like an unveiling; when he closes his eyes and bends his head to take him in his mouth, there’s reverence. Caleb’s soft cries feel like a blessing, doubly so when his fingers tangle in Essek’s head, guiding his movements. Even as a willing, enthusiastic participant, Essek focuses on making it as good as he can for Caleb, paying attention to his reactions and figuring out what he likes.

The hand that was in his hair slides down and grasps his shoulder, signaling him to stop. Essek pulls back and looks up, trying to tamp down his anxiety. Has something gone wrong? Was it too much? Which boundary has he crossed?

But when Caleb looks at him, there’s no reproach in his eyes. With his hair spread on the pillow like a halo and his rumpled shirt, he looks delightfully dishevelled and breathless and pleased and determined as he whispers, “Fuck me, please?”

Essek has never quite lived through the experience of having every thought vacate his mind, until now. He needs a few seconds before he manages to speak. “Are you sure?”

“Only if you want to.”

Essek has to take a long, steadying breath. He’s not going to make Caleb ask twice — although the mere thought of hearing those words again sends a shiver down his spine. He gets off the bed, getting rid of his pants and underwear while he’s at it, and he opens the nightstand’s drawer. He bought a bottle of lube and a box of condoms months ago, just to be safe.

When he looks at Caleb, he finds him gazing at him with a mischievous smile. “It almost looks like you were expecting this.”

Essek would bristle at the sarcasm, but he recognizes an attempt to ease the tension when he sees one. “It never hurts to be prepared. How do you want to…?”

Caleb props himself up on his elbows. “No, you tell me. However you’re more comfortable.”

“Well.” The nerves are momentarily forgotten as Essek considers the logistics. “I think I can… prepare you, if you’re okay with that.”

“I am, if you are.”

This is starting to feel like two people in a doorway insisting the other walks in first, and if the _after-you-no-after-you_ goes on any longer, they’ll never get to the point. Essek shakes his head. “I think I can do my— _you_ this favor,” he amends at the last second, averting his eyes. _‘Your’ what, Thelyss?_

But Caleb doesn’t seem to pay any mind to his slip-up. He looks deep in thought for a moment, then he looks towards him. “Essek?”

When Essek turns, he feels a hand on the back of his neck as Caleb pulls him close and kisses him. It’s quick, but reassuring. Essek clings to this testament of trust as he reaches down with slicked fingers.

In the end, he’s so focused on making sure that Caleb is comfortable and ready that he doesn’t consider how _he_ is feeling. His body, however, is extremely eager to take it to the next step, and he experiences another rare moment of blackout as he slides slowly into Caleb’s heat. When they make eye contact, Essek’s thoughts are just a distant droning buzz. For a long moment, this is everything there is.

After a few seconds, Caleb looks about to say something just as Essek adjusts his position. It’s the smallest movement, but the low moan it elicits is both flattering and arousing. They never break eye contact as Caleb wraps his legs around Essek’s waist.

He’s determined to pace himself, but Caleb feels so _good_ , murmuring little encouragements in his ear, clinging and moving with him, touching his face and neck and hair and skin, whatever he can reach.

Essek buries his face in the crook of Caleb’s neck, and there’s a hand on his neck and another on his back as Caleb presses a kiss on the sweaty hair on his temple. “Everything okay, Kätzchen?”

Essek sighs, propping himself up on his elbows again. He can’t tell if the soreness is due to the unexpected exercise or to his body throwing a spanner in the works, as usual. “Just getting a bit tired.” As he looks down at Caleb, he moves his hips again, just to hear his reaction.

He can’t help kiss him then, and Caleb deepens it immediately, touching him on his shoulders and shoulder blades, fingers stroking his ribs and down his back, ending up on his buttocks in a clear invitation. “Are you…?”

Essek feels his cheeks grow warm as he nods. For all that he’s lost track of time, he knows it’s not been that long. “Touch yourself?”

Caleb obeys without hesitation, and Essek feels him come as if it was happening to him — the muscles tensing and clenching around him — and then it _is_ happening to him, and he muffles his cries half in the pillow, half on Caleb’s neck.

The first coherent thought he has, when they’re both on their backs, sweaty and breathless, is that he’ll need to change the sheets even if it’s not laundry day.

“That was…” As Caleb leaves the sentence unfinished, Essek’s mind provides him with several possible endings. Disappointing? Quick? A nice try, but let’s not make it a habit? Caleb rolls over, facing him, and Essek reaches out automatically, brushing a few strands of hair stuck to Caleb’s forehead. Caleb settles on his side, tangling his ankles with Essek’s. “How are you feeling?”

 _Like how coming home is supposed to feel,_ is the first thing that comes into his mind. But that’s not anything Caleb’s ever supposed to hear. He takes quick stock of the situation. He feels sore. Boneless. Wrung out. Happy. “Not bad.”

“You’d tell me if you were?”

Essek rolls his eyes. “I firmly believe in my right to complain, as you know very well.”

As Caleb smiles and closes his eyes, looking content, Essek thinks that they should get a move on, clean themselves, change the bedding, get some rest. But this, as uncomfortable as it’s becoming… this is also nice. “Why are you so patient with me?” he whispers, so lightly that it’s barely more than a thought.

Caleb doesn’t seem surprised by the question. Eyes still closed, he finds Essek’s hand and squeezes it. “I'm a jumble of broken pieces that a few people were so kind to put back together,” he answers without hesitation. “I'm grateful to everyone who keeps them that way.”

There’s nothing Essek can say to that. “Stay here, tonight?” he asks instead.

Caleb yawns, stretches and throws an arm over Essek’s waist. “Only if you change the sheets.”

*

By this point, even with his lower-than-average emotional intelligence Essek is aware that he’s falling, in more ways than one.

When he was a child, before he knew better than to keep his curiosity to himself, he used to ask annoying questions to the adults around him. Why do things fall down and not up? Why can people walk on the ground but not on the walls? He quickly turned to books, which didn’t scold him for his curiosity and were often more thorough. When he learned about gravity in a library book he took from the grown-up section, he felt like the first man on the moon. A whole universe unfolded before him, literally.

That’s what falling for Caleb feels like. It took him a long time to recognize it, but the sensation of being on the cusp of a discovery, of opening a mechanism and observing the turning of the gears: that’s what makes Essek feel alive, and that’s how Caleb makes him feel.

And he’s also falling towards an unavoidable reckoning. It eventually happens a few days after he phones his contact at the ridiculously named Cerberus Assembly, the one who contacted him all those years ago, offering him the deal with the devil that Essek ended up taking. He spared both him and Ludinus the pleasantries. “How many people got in trouble?”

The man on the other end of the phone wasn’t even startled by the question. His laugh made Essek want to throw his phone away and wash his hands. “Why do you want to know?”

“Why should I not?”

“And to what do we owe your sudden development of a conscience?”

It’s not like Essek was really expecting a straight answer, but he had to try. He had to know if Ludinus and his associates were at least trying to act like they cared. “Friends. You should try them, sometime,” he answered icily, before he hung up and started to think of a plan.

It happens because his usual, methodical carefulness fails him in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It happens because it has to happen.

He’s leaving the dining hall and crossing the campus towards the library, one afternoon, when he hears a familiar voice calling him and he turns around to see Beauregard running towards him.

He stops as she reaches him, catching her breath. “You forgot your phone,” she says. Then she squares her shoulders and swings her arm back. “Asshole.”

Before Essek can say anything, he finds himself on the ground, his jaw throbbing where Beau just socked him. He sighs as he sits up, hurt in several different places — his pride among them — but unsurprised.

Beau stands over him with her arms crossed, glaring at a couple of students passing by, who decide they’d rather mind their own business after all. She tosses his phone at him. “A tip for the next time you try to stab someone in the back: don’t leave proof where people can find it.”

Essek catches his phone and the screen lights up, showing an incoming email. It’s addressed to Dezran Thain, the fake name he uses for his dealings with Cerberus. “Listen, Beau…”

She crouches down. “First of all, you don’t get to call me ‘Beau’, you lying scumbag.” Her voice is deceptively lighthearted. “And second, find a way to tell Caleb what you did, or I will.” She stands up again. “You have twenty-four hours. You know how to get in touch.” And she walks away, leaving him on the ground.

He needs to pull himself up, he needs to go somewhere quiet, he needs to think. Essek hides his face in his hands.

Ultimately, there’s not much he can do. He goes through his afternoon in a daze, forgetting about Beauregard’s ultimatum for a few minutes before the memories come crashing back, and feeling sick for the three hours before he pulls up in front of the Might Nein’s house, just before dinner.

He’s greeted with the same casual warmth as ever, with Jester assuming he’s going to stay for dinner and Caduceus confirming there’s more than enough food for at least two more Esseks. He hears Veth asking something in the living room, Caleb answering and Fjord laughing.

When she comes downstairs, followed by Yasha, Beau gives him a long, appraising look, then she nods. He asks them all politely if he could talk to them all in the living room, and as he sits on one of the chairs he starts shaking, and it feels like he’ll never stop.

Then his hand is squeezed by another one, and he looks up to see Jester’s encouraging smile. “What did you want to talk to us about?” She turns to her left, to where Caleb is leaning against the mantelpiece. “Have _you two_ got something to tell us?”

It’s an odd feeling, the hairline fracture on the surface of his heart that forms when he understands the reason for her misguided enthusiasm. He tries to remember the last time he kissed Caleb. Was it yesterday? Two days ago? It will come to him. He might need to live off memories for the rest of his life.

He gingerly touches his jaw. It still hurts where Beau punched him, but he doesn’t mind. He deserves it. He looks at them, one by one and sighs. “You all weren’t part of the plan,” he says, mostly to himself.

Taken aback by his somber tone, Jester frowns. “What are you talking about, Essek?”

“Just tell them,” Beau interjects brusquely from the living room’s doorway.

Essek avoids everyone’s concerned or curious stares as he starts telling them the worst thing he’s done in his life. “I have a lot I want to accomplish. And only one person who understands and believes in this idea.” He pauses, inhales. “And that’s me. A long time ago, I made a decision. I cannot say I regret what I’ve done. I just regret how things have changed since I’ve made that decision.” He closes his eyes, shakes his head. “You weren’t part of the plan,” he repeats.

The confusion and worry in Jester’s voice hurt more than an accusation. “Just tell us, Essek.”

“He doesn’t want to say it out loud.” Caduceus walks into the room from where he was standing next to Beau, reaching the back of the couch where Yasha and Fjord are seated. “If he says it out loud, then he’s going to have to hear what it is. And he’s not going to like who he is when he hears it.” He pauses, smiling gently. “ I know you’re a good man.”

When Essek scoffs, Jester squeezes his hand tighter. “You are, we know you, Essek.”

“Go on. We’re here,” Caduceus adds.

Essek exhales slowly. “Once Dr. Kryn appointed me as an assistant, a research group within the Soltryce Academy contacted me. They knew I was looking for a way to support myself after my family cut me off, and they offered me three times the amount of the highest scholarship I applied for in exchange for information. Nothing too overt, or everything would become transparent. Just enough to publish articles before Rosohna’s University can.”

He thought that Beau couldn’t be more disappointed in him when she punched him in the quad, but he was wrong. “So you did it for the _money_?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need much, but my research does.”

Beau shakes her head, incredulous. “You realize this puts you at a disadvantage, too, right? You're part of the university your pals are sabotaging.”

Essek shakes his head as well. How can he make them understand? “My ambition goes beyond their petty academic squabbles. What I’m doing is too important to get mired in grant applications and bureaucracy.”

“Important enough to harm innocent people, Essek?” As his stomach drops, everyone looks at Beau. “Oh, yes. This was not a victimless crime as he makes it seem. People were fired on both sides so he could look into your little telescope undisturbed.”

Instead of correcting her, of retorting or explaining, Essek looks at Veth. As they make eye contact, her frown deepens, then disappears as her face goes slack. He sees the exact moment she understands. “You,” she whispers. “It's your fault that my husband was fired.”

Essek wasn’t going to reply, but everyone’s looking at him, expecting him to say something. Even Jester, who’s still holding his hand, looks at him as if she isn’t sure who he is anymore. “Indirectly,” he whispers.

Veth blinks at him. “I’m going to kill you very directly.”

An apology starts forming on his lips, but he closes his mouth and bows his head. What good could it do? Words can’t change the harm his actions have done, even if he didn’t mean it.

“Are you even sorry?” Low, deep and disbelieving, Beau’s voice is like a shove to the chest.

He doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t look at any of them. The hand that Jester isn’t holding is limp and empty in his lap. “I’m sorry that you found out,” he answers honestly.

Beau scoffs. “You thought you could hide this forever? While pretending to be our friend?”

Essek’s head whips up almost against his will. “I wasn't pretending.” He wants to tell them the whole truth: that he didn’t use to feel lonely until he got swept up in their odd little family, and now the thought of going back to that loneliness feels intolerable; that they saved him when he didn’t even know he needed to be. But how could they ever believe him now? He wouldn’t, in their place. He blinks away the moisture in his eyes, keeping his voice as firm as he can as he looks at them one by one. “I’m sorry I betrayed you before I even knew you.”

His gaze eventually finds Caleb, who looks away. When he opens his mouth, even if he doesn’t know what he’ll tell him, Caleb shakes his head and pushes himself away from the mantelpiece. “I need my cat,” he whispers. They all watch him leave the room, listening to his footsteps up the stairs.

Essek puts a hand to his chest, absent-mindedly. He feels like a piece of him has been carved out. But, if he’s hollow, why does it hurt so much? “I’m sorry.” The more he says it, the easier it becomes to form the words. Too bad they’re still useless as the first time. “I should go to him.”

“Leave him be.” Beau enters the room and walks up to him. Essek doesn’t even flinch when she pats his shoulder in a way that’s both friendly and aggressive. “You’ve done enough.”

“You don’t understand.” But he doesn’t explain. Judging by the looks he sees pointed towards him, some of them understand better than he would ever have expected. He knows from the way Jester and Beau squeeze his hand and shoulder respectively, from Cad’s soft smile, from Yasha’s intense silence, from Fjord’s narrowed eyes, even from Veth’s extremely vexed expression. He looks at his friends, knowing that he can’t go back to a life without them. “I want to fix this. But I don’t know how.”

“Oh, he wants to _fix_ this!” Veth throws her hands in the air. “That’s alright, then. Everything’s forgiven.”

Fjord puts a hand on her shoulder. “That’s a good first step,” he says, “but it’s not going to be enough, you know that, right, Essek?”

“But, if he really wants to do it, he’s going to have our help,” Caduceus adds, ignoring Veth’s put-upon huff. “Because we believe in second chances.”

“Yes.” Speaking for the first time, Yasha looks straight at Essek. “We do.”

When he walks out, the streetlights are on. Essek turns around and looks up towards Caleb’s room, even if he can’t see it from the curb. His heart feels as empty as the sky.

*

When someone knocks on the assistants’ office door, late in the afternoon, Essek is tempted to just yell at them to go away. But he can’t do it, can he? There’s just a hint of impatience in his voice as he tells them to come in, and he doesn’t look towards the door when it opens.

“In my office, Thelyss.”

As soon as he hears Dr. Kryn’s voice, Essek’s back straightens and his head whips around, but she’s already gone, the door left carelessly open in her wake.

Essek doesn’t believe in omens and bad feelings, but he doesn’t know how to explain the sense of foreboding he feels as he steps into the hall and walks the short distance to the door marked with the plaque _Doctor Leylas Kryn — Head of the Physics Department_.

The door is open, but he knocks anyway. “You wanted to see me?”

The smile on her face, far from being reassuring, unsettles him even more. “Yes, and I think you know why. Close the door.”

 _Finally_ , Essek thinks as he sits in the chair in front of her desk. Dr. Kryn knows. Everything that could go wrong eventually has. He feels oddly relieved: now he doesn’t have anything else to lose. He has no allies, no Caleb, and as of today, no career.

He wonders who reported him. Has Caleb outed him in retribution? Has Beauregard changed her mind about helping him? Were they all empty promises from the beginning? It’s been a week since he spoke to the Mighty Nein and he hasn’t heard from any of them. He doesn’t know what to make of this silence, but he hasn’t been in contact, either. Everything is jumbled and confused and he doesn’t know what to do, so he does nothing.

The suspicion that his former friends have ruined his life doesn’t hurt as much as he thinks it should. He deserves it, so he doesn’t think he has the right to feel bad. An explanation dies on his lips, and perhaps that’s for the best. There’s nothing he can say to Dr. Kryn that would save him.

In any case, she’s not looking at him. “I’ve just received an interesting email from one of your students.” Her long, manicured finger presses once on the mouse button. _Click._ “Here’s the best part: ‘With regard to the Modern Astronomy course I took last semester, I find myself compelled to take my final test again, since I do believe there was a bias in the grading of my test. I hope honesty will counterbalance the lateness of this disclosure’ et cetera et cetera.” Finally, Dr. Kryn looks at him as she steeples her fingers. “Can you guess who sent this email?”

Essek clears his throat. “Dr. Kryn…”

She cuts him off. “If it wasn’t clear before, let me say it now: the ice you’re walking on is very, very thin, Thelyss. So thin you’re basically walking on water. Choose your next words carefully.”

Lying is easy, safe. Such an old habit that he finds himself falling back into it without thinking. “I have no idea.”

“So the name Caleb Widogast doesn’t mean anything to you?”

Essek answers the rhetorical question without hesitating. “He was one of my students last semester.”

“And you haven’t spent time with each other since then?”

It would be no use denying that, since they must have been seen studying together by everyone and their brother. “We’re acquainted.”

To his surprise, the smile on Dr. Kryn’s face is tinged with disappointment. “You know I like to keep a finger on the pulse of my department, but I don’t consider myself a tyrant. I think giving a certain leeway to the people who work with me and for me has its advantages. But this doesn’t mean that I don’t hear things. The rumors about the burst of social activity you’ve been experiencing lately are hard to miss, along with other more… saucy gossip. I didn’t believe the last part, at first, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to do some research.”

As she goes on, Essek’s blood freezes in his veins. When she turns her monitor towards him, he has to make an effort to look at it.

At first, he doesn’t realize that the video is already playing, since nothing is moving. It’s in black and white, and very grainy, with a timestamp at the bottom. Security camera footage. From the angle and the perspective, it takes him a few seconds to understand where the camera is placed. The stacks of boxes and binders on the bookshelves of the assistant’s office are familiar enough, and even more so is the wall between them. Essek doesn’t need to look at the timestamp and do the math to know when the footage was taken and what will come next, and even if he should probably panic, he feels strangely calm.

It’s easier than he would have thought, keeping his face straight as he watches two people enter the frame, one leading the other by the hand until they reach what they thought was a private spot. It’s hard to say which one throws himself at the other, but the passionate enthusiasm in their kiss is evident.

Essek would probably feel a pang in his chest, if his heart and everything around it hadn’t already turned to ice. Especially because, if he didn’t know better, he would have guessed that these two people were in love.

Dr. Kryn stops the footage just as one of them gets on his knees. When she breaks the silence, her voice is quiet, but it feels like a gunshot to Essek’s ears. “I wish two things to be clear. First, this is all I’ve seen, but I can guess where this is going. Am I wrong?”

Essek doesn’t answer. He can’t tear his eyes away from the paused video on Dr. Kryn’s monitor, at least not until she speaks again.

“The second thing is that I’m going to delete this as soon as this conversation is over.” Her mouth is a hard line. Despite her composure, Essek can feel the anger boiling underneath. “I thought I had you figured out, Thelyss. I expected I’d have to help you dispose of a corpse, some day, not cover a sex scandal, but here we are.”

Essek’s throat is so dry that he has to clear it several times before he manages to speak. “It’s not a position I was expecting to find myself in, either.” He thought he was being careful. As careful as he could. And maybe he was, maybe in another timeline he’d have slipped up sooner, he’d have been discovered in a stupider way than him forgetting about CCTV. “Are you really going to delete it?”

“Do you think that _this_ is what makes me angry? This is just the proof that you’re as capable of making dumb choices as the rest of us.” Her laugh is devoid of any humour. “Of all the people in the world you could choose… But no, you’re Essek Thelyss, of course you had to get involved with the most inconvenient person on your radar and think you could get away with it. No, what makes me angry is that you lied to my face, just a moment ago. What makes me angry _and_ amazes me is that you let this interfere with your work.”

If Essek clenches his jaw any harder, his teeth will break. He forces himself to relax. “It didn’t.”

“Then why lie?” Dr. Kryn raises her voice, and Essek feels small and desperate as his back hits a metaphorical wall.

“Please, don’t let him take the test again,” he says, gritting his teeth. “If someone screwed up, here, it’s me, and there’s no reason he should be paying for my mistakes by losing his scholarship.”

Dr. Kryn is staring at him with such intensity that Essek can feel his skin tingling. “So the grade you assigned did not reflect any personal bias?”

“It didn’t,” he repeats, without breaking eye contact.

“But you do have a personal relationship with this student.”

Essek steels himself. Saying this is going to be as painful as pulling out a tooth, but he must. “It's not relevant. He wasn’t my student anymore when it started, and now it’s over.” Dr. Kryn keeps staring at him, and he feels a surge of irritation. Is she expecting him to share the details? “I’m allowed to have relationships,” he adds, somewhat petulantly.

“You are also expected to tell me if you find yourself in a conflict of interest. You know better.” Dr. Kryn’s voice could cut a diamond. “All of this could have very well been avoided if you’d been smarter and told me you couldn’t evaluate Widogast fairly.”

Even if his face is burning, his composure doesn’t sway. “I didn’t want to appear unprofessional.”

Dr. Kryn arches an eyebrow. “And look at you now.”

Essek swallows. “There was no personal bias in my final evaluation. I just took into account skill, diligence and effort. If anything, I should be reprimanded for having dismissed or undervalued these aspects in the past.”

The smile that curves Dr. Krin’s mouth after a few seconds is as unexpected as it is unsettling. “Look at you. He’s really made you soft.”

Clenching his fists, Essek doesn’t break eye contact. He has nothing to be proud of right now, but at least his voice is firm as he says: “No. He’s made me fair.”

Dr. Kryn looks at the ceiling and inhales deeply, with a meditative tilt to her head. Essek knows what comes next. Punishment. Worst case scenario, he’s no longer her assistant. He tries to get used to the thought, to be ready for the blow when it comes.

“You know, I got married out of spite,” she says instead.

At first, Essek’s not sure he’s heard correctly, but she goes on.

“I was your age, more or less, and people — my family most of all — thought Quana would be a distraction, drive me away from my career. They told me I was too young, which I resented, even if you all look like babies to me, now, so maybe they had a point.” She taps a finger against her lips, lost in thought. “Anyway, I married her to prove that I could be committed to her as I was to my career. Everything worked out just fine, but it was a rash decision. I allowed my feelings to take precedence.”

Essek is not sure what he’s supposed to say. “You were in love,” he settles on eventually.

Dr. Kryn laughs. “Of course, but that’s not my point. I didn’t marry Quana out of love. We didn’t need marriage. I married her because I was proud and I wanted to prove a point. If she’d been the wrong person, it could have ruined everything. Luckily, she was the one.” She levels Essek a long look. “I should drag you in front of a disciplinary commission by your ear. The humiliation would scare you into being smarter about these things in the future, at least. But I see a lot of myself in you, Thelyss. I always have. You can go.” Seeing his stunned expression, she sighs. “Go, before I change my mind.”

* * *

The seven pm class is still predictably underpopulated, but Essek is pleasantly surprised to recognize a few faces when he walks into the needlessly large classroom.

It’s the start of another academic year, after the busiest summer break he’s ever had. It’s also the first time he teaches a course out of his own volition and not because his hands are tied by the faculty.

When he told Ludinus he would be rescinding their deal, his words were met with scorn and the promise that they would give him three months at most before he changed his mind. Essek didn’t react to the thinly veiled threat. They couldn’t expose him without risking being exposed in turn: a stalemate of mutual assured destruction.

Four months have passed, and Essek’s life has changed both in good and bad ways, but despite the endless hours of tutoring and the long nights spent working on a chapter of his thesis, he hasn’t regretted his decision yet. It’s harder than before, but people make do all the time. He can afford his meds with his savings, his research has funds for at least another year, and he has friends he can rely on.

Essek puts his briefcase on the desk and, since it’s a late summer day and he’s too tired to care about formalities, he pops open the first button of his shirt. He stopped wearing a tie at some point during the summer and he forgot to wear one today. He thinks he might forget tomorrow, too. A murmur runs among the students, but he knows better than to address it. It has come to his attention that he has a nickname, which is… flattering but inappropriate. Something Beau would tease him about for the rest of their lives, if she ever found out.

“Good evening,” he says, effectively silencing the whispers. “I hope you had a nice summer. For those of you who spent it reviewing with me: I’m sorry it hasn’t been.” He keeps his face straight as he waits for a few uncertain laughs to die down. It was Fjord who suggested using humor to connect with people, but Essek’s attempts still fall flat more often than not. “This is not going to be an easy curriculum, but with a solid grasp of the basics and constant effort, you will at least survive it. It will definitely give you an edge for Dr. Kryn’s course next semester, so I recommend you stick with me.”

As he proceeds to give an overview of his course, he can’t help but think of Dr. Kryn’s face when he came into her office, one May morning, to ask for scholarships recommendations. For some reason, she wore a faint smile the whole time he spoke, then she just sighed and sent him off. Essek was resigned to deal with the issue on his own, but at 2am the next day an email containing a list of links (and nothing else) dropped into his inbox.

Dr. Kryn has surprised him in many ways, but if he’s honest with himself, she’s probably not the one who’s changed. There’s no point in thinking about what could have been if he’d made different choices, back when it mattered, but the knowledge that he can count on her after all is reassuring.

At the end of the lesson, Essek lingers in the classroom and takes a look at his phone. There’s one email and thirteen messages, which would have seemed a preposterously high number only a few months ago. He glances through the messages, confirming his suspicion that most of them are from Jester, but opens the email first.

“Bad news?” asks a familiar voice from the doorway.

Essek wipes the frown from his face, but before he can answer Beau is already strutting in, casting an impressed look around with her hands in her pockets. “You could hold a concert here. It’s a fucking stadium.”

Putting his phone away — he will text Jester back later, or better yet talk to her in person when he gets home — Essek takes his things and climbs down the dais. “I doubt the attendance would change.”

Beau bumps their arms together playfully, and he nearly loses his balance. “Don’t sell yourself short, hot boy.”

Essek closes his eyes in consternation. So the news of his nickname _has_ reached Beau after all. “Please, forget you’ve ever heard that.”

She grins as they exit the classroom together, but he notices she doesn’t promise anything. “What’s the bad news, then?”

“I just got news from the office of housing. If I interpreted all the bureaucracies correctly, they won’t be able to sort out my room situation until they hear back from the foundation who’s granting my scholarship.” He rubs his forehead, trying to keep a headache at bay as his brain shifts gears into planning mode. “I will have to look for cheap accommodations until the paperwork is sorted out.”

“You’re going to give both Jester and Cad a heart attack if you tell them that.”

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome. And Jester is coming back next week.” After an amount of prodding and insistence that didn’t leave room to doubt her sincerity, Jester convinced him to move into her room for the summer. The housemates who would be staying there for the summer — Caduceus, Yasha and Fjord — encouraged her gentle bullying to the point where Essek felt bad refusing.

Despite his reservations, nobody has tired of him yet, and vice versa. When he wasn’t teaching or writing, he spent his time reading in his room, taking gentle walks through the conservatory where Caduceus and now Yasha work, or at the swimming pool. For the first time since he started taking medications, he was taking the prescribed doses at the right time. Cad, it turned out, is far more reliable — and impossible to postpone or ignore — than the alarms on his phone.

“Look, our house is not the Hilton, but we have a sofa bed you could use when Jester comes back. As long as your old bones are not complaining, we aren’t either.” But then Beau makes a face. “Although…”

Essek’s stomach drops. He was pleased to see Beau coming around to pick him up after his class, but he fears now it wasn’t a social call.

“You might want to reconsider it once I tell you this.” Beau’s grimace deepens. “Caleb will be back next week.”

Essek doesn’t react. He knew it. Well, he suspected it. He only accepted his friends’ offer to stay at their place for the summer because Caleb would be away, but of course he would come back at some point. “I assume he doesn’t want to see me.”

As she holds the door open for him, having reached it first, Beau shrugs. “I don’t know, man, I haven’t talked to him about it. Have you?”

One of the things Essek appreciates more about Beau is that, unlike Jester, she never tries to make him talk about Caleb. Until now, apparently. “About what? The fact that I worked with the very people that hurt him the most? My unrequited feelings for him?”

He still feels self-conscious saying it out loud, but the fact that he can say it at all is what Cad would call ‘great progress’ and Beau probably calls ‘finally getting his head out of his ass’. He’s made peace with the fact that he’s in love with Caleb, and that all of his friends probably know by now. This doesn’t mean he likes to discuss the subject.

When Beau doesn’t answer, he turns to find her still holding the door and looking at him with something close to disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me? _Unrequited?_ ”

Rolling his eyes, Essek turns again and starts walking. She can make fun of him all she wants, but he’s not going to give her more material to work on.

Finally letting the door close behind her, Beau runs in front of him, pushing herself in his field of vision and forcing him to stop. “Essek, you know that Caleb was in love with you, right?”

As they stand there, stalled, a variegated selection of emotions runs through Essek at breakneck speed: the briefest glimpse of hope, incredulity, anger and incomprehension.

His face must showcase them all, especially the last one, because Beau stares at him for a couple more seconds before hiding her face in her hands. “Holy fucking _shit_ , you seriously didn’t know?” She starts gesticulating wildly, forcing Essek to take a step back. “You were together all the time. He gave you pet names. I caught you two kissing in the kitchen at least twice, and everyone knows he would spend the night in your room when he wasn’t sleeping at home.”

However he thought today would go, Essek didn’t expect to have an epiphany in the middle of the Physics department. _But_ , his brain protests. _But it can’t be._ “He gave you all pet names, too,” he says, lamely.

Beau reaches out and slaps his arm. “ _That’s_ what you took from what I just said? He does it because we’re family to him, you idiot. _You_ were family.”

_Oh._

Well.

Suddenly dizzy, Essek takes a deep, steadying breath. What does Beau know? And even if what she says is true, Essek has ruined everything. Her wording hasn’t escaped him: she said ‘was’. Caleb _was_ in love with him.

(The thought that there was a moment when this was true is impossible to contemplate. It’s like trying to grasp at sunlight, to hold something the magnitude of a galaxy.)

“Oh, come on.” Beau takes a step forward and links their arms, in a rare show of non-violent affection. Essek allows her to drag him along. “You look like a lost puppy, it makes me mad. Let’s never talk about this again, okay? What if we pick up some junk food for dinner instead? We’ll tell Cad it’s an emergency.”

*

The news of Caleb’s return, unsettling as it is, can’t get in the way of the other plans Essek has in motion.

Months ago, shortly after his confession, Jester reached out to him, and during a long phone call managed to convince him that the Mighty Nein weren’t going to leave him to himself, he just had to ask for help if he needed it. So he asked.

Jester’s first suggestions on how to fix things were either too far-fetched or too small-scaled. He stopped her when she suggested he wrote a poem to every person he wronged, deciding he would ask Fjord or Caduceus for advice instead, but something of what she said wouldn’t leave him alone.

Doing something nice for someone every day sounded feasible and could fit in his schedule. But there are a few people who deserve more than a door being held open, a kind word or a compliment on a job well done. Yeza Brenatto is among them.

For as long as he lives, Essek will never forget the look of betrayal on Veth’s face when he admitted his role in having Yeza fired, a memory that hurts just a bit less than Caleb leaving the room without looking at him. Which is why he ends up doing something he didn’t think he’d ever do again.

He’s in the quad on a sunny afternoon, at the agreed-upon meeting place, with a book open on his knees of which he doesn’t understand a single word, when a shadow falls over him. Essek looks up at the tall, long-haired and smiling figure of his younger brother.

“Ah, it’s you.” He tries to keep the dread from seeping in his voice — and probably fails — as he closes the book and stands up from the short wall he was sitting on.

Verin sweeps him up in a tight, too-long bear hug nonetheless. “Is this the way to greet your little brother, who brings you good tidings?” When he finally lets him go, Verin is still grinning. “You still look like a nerd. Since when do you wear glasses?”

Essek takes his reading glasses off, looking at his brother. Of all the outcomes of today’s meeting, he didn’t expect Verin to look genuinely happy to see him. He doesn’t remember when they last spoke, before Essek asked for help a couple of weeks ago.

The thing is, unlike him, Verin is well-liked by everyone and, more importantly, still in contact with the rest of their family. Not that his childhood and adolescence have been much easier than Essek’s, but being the younger brother meant that he didn’t have a target painted on his back from birth. And Verin has always been quick to forgive and forget. For some reason, Essek didn’t think it applied to him, too.

He puts these thoughts to the side. “Have you spoken to her?”

Verin’s smile dims a bit, but he still looks far more at ease than Essek feels. “Yes, I spoke with Mother. I showed her the resume you gave me, and there might be a vacancy in the Foundation that could use someone with that background.” He tilts his head. “What did this guy do, that you owe him such a big favor? Did he help you hide a corpse? Chemists have access to acids, right?”

Why does everyone always assume Essek has corpses to hide? “Did you mention me?” he asks, ignoring Verin’s questions.

He knew it was a lot to ask of Verin, to pledge for a complete stranger’s reputation based only on his basically estranged brother’s word. But Essek had no choice: if Deirta knew he was involved, she would never have considered it.

Verin brings a hand to his chest. “You wound me. You told me not to, and I didn’t.” Mock outrage aside, he seems honest.

Essek sighs as a weight lifts off his shoulders. Without thinking, he extends a hand towards his brother. “Thank you.”

Biting his lips to conceal a smile, Verin gives him an overly solemn handshake. “Let’s have a beer together, one of these evenings,” he says, when he finally lets Essek go.

The prospect fills Essek with much less horror than he thought it would. “Let’s.”

*

He’s coming out of the bathroom, a few days later, when he almost bumps into Veth. He didn’t know she was supposed to be back in Rosohna, and he has no idea why she’s waiting for him here of all places, except to try and give him a heart attack.

Before he can say anything, she holds her phone up to his face. “Is this your doing?”

Essek tries to look at the screen without going cross-eyed, and fails. However, he only needs a glimpse of the familiar dodecahedron logo to figure out what this must be about.

He rubs at his eyes. He didn’t expect to have this conversation barely awake, still in his night clothes and before coffee… which makes him think that Veth might have actually planned this stakeout from the beginning.

“Why do you think so?”

Veth tilts her head, looking mildly offended. “I’m a scientist who’s married to a scientist. I’ve heard enough about the Luxon Foundation to know that they don’t send job offers to disgraced country chemists. Imagine my surprise when I Google them and find out that your family owns them.” Veth crosses her arms. From the way she’s dragging it on, Essek is now sure that she’s enjoying his discomfort. “You know what I cannot wrap my head around? Why should a golden child like you ruin the lives of the people I love most in the world for money.”

Essek runs a hand through his hair, not caring about how it stands on end afterwards. “I’m not part of that family anymore, Veth.”

She laughs. “Were they weighing you down? Interfering in your plans?”

Coming from somebody else, this kind of assumption would make Essek furious. But he’s hurt Veth much worse than she might be hurting him now, so he swallows down the anger and the hurt. “The opposite, maybe. I wasn’t the son my mother needed, so she pretends I never existed in the first place.”

Never looking away from him, Veth seems lost in thought for a long moment. “Caleb told me you weren’t close to your family, but… that’s harsh.” When Essek tries to take a step down the hall, she steps in his way. “You know, I thought a lot about you, probably more than you deserve. Or so I thought until now. You are a broken person who had ill intentions, and yet, from what I’ve heard, somehow along the way you found a heart.” She shakes her head with a sigh. “Caleb doesn’t open up to just anyone, but I know he told you something about his past, right? I bet he told you something like, ‘Veth and I met when I was at my lowest point and she saved me.’”

Essek remembers that story very well. “Something like that, yes.”

“Well, I was at my lowest point too. I’ll spare you the details, but I’ve been sober for two years, now, and while ultimately I am the one who chooses to stay that way, I couldn’t have done it without Caleb. He brought me — the real me — back to my family. He _is_ my family, just like Jester and Beau and the others. I love him like a son, and I know that he thinks so badly of himself that he still can’t believe he’s allowed to be happy.”

She looks away, then, but not so fast that Essek can’t see the tears in her eyes.

“I’ve tried to change his mind lots and lots of time, and I think we might be getting there. It’s not going to be easy, but I’d love to see you try, too.” Veth turns her back to him and walks down the hall, leaving him finally free to go. “My husband and I will think about your offer,” she adds, and before she disappears into the kitchen, she turns one last time. “Thank you.”

She’s gone before Essek can say anything, leaving him alone with his thoughts and confused feelings.

*

Essek is determinedly ignoring his phone. The message he sent yesterday, breaking a silence that had lasted months, was nerve-wracking enough. Now, sitting in the same spot where he met Verin the other day, he cannot even pretend to read. The sun is shining and a gentle wind keeps pushing a strand of hair into his eyes. Essek rolls up his shirt-sleeves just to have something to do, and also because he’s sweating. He hasn’t been so nervous in ages.

He takes a deep breath and gives up, peeking at his phone just to see what time it is. Five minutes late. That’s not a lot. And no new messages except for the one in which Caleb confirmed the time and the place, which is encouraging.

He’s fiddling with a leaf of grass, trying not to flinch at every stranger who walks too close to him, and to focus on something that isn’t his stomach trying to eat itself, when he hears a _mrew_ behind him. Suddenly there’s a head covered in orange fur trying to snake its way under his arm, and then the unmistakable shuffling and rustling of someone sitting right behind him on the low wall, giving their back to him.

As Essek’s heart rate shoots up, a small, soft voice behind him says: “Ah… _Hallo._ ”

Looking in the round eyes of the cat that’s now in his lap, Essek’s lips curve in a smile. He’s very happy to see him, too. “I hope your journey went well.”

“My plane landed a few hours ago. Jester told me you moved in.” Caleb’s voice is clear even if he faces the other way.

If he’s more comfortable like this, Essek has no intention of pushing. He scratches Frumpkin’s chin instead, and the cat closes his eyes and purrs. “Temporarily. I’ll be out of your hair soon.” He hasn’t made any concrete plan to leave the house, but his stuff can be packed quickly, in case this conversation goes wrong.

There’s a fairly long silence before Caleb’s noncommittal “I see.”

“Has Jester told you…”

“We’ve kept in touch, _ja._ I heard you’ve been keeping busy.”

Essek nods, then he remembers Caleb can’t see him. “Yes.” Should he explain? Ask about what Caleb has been up to, since Jester hasn’t told _him_ anything about that? Plea for forgiveness?

Before he can break the silence, something presses against his shoulders and the back of his head. Without thinking, he leans back against Caleb, as his eyes fill with inexplicable tears that he quickly brushes away.

Everything that Essek has tried to keep at bay comes rushing back in. The old, familiar pull of something other than gravity is still there between them. He hopes he’s not the only one who feels it.

“Where…” he starts, at the same time that Caleb says, “I’ve…”

The knot of anxiety in Essek’s chest eases a little when they both laugh. _I missed you so much._ He bites his bottom lip to keep himself from saying it out loud. “Please, go ahead.”

He hears Caleb sigh, feels it from where they’re leaning against each other. “That night, at the lake, after I told you what I had done… you told me I should go back. I kept thinking about it. So, when you… _After_ , I didn’t know what to do. Then I thought, what better place to start again than back in square one? I had no plan, no idea what to do once I got there.”

Essek resists the urge to reach for his hand, letting his fingers sink in Frumpkin’s fur instead.

“I saw my parents. It was…” Essek feels Caleb shake his head slightly. “They say you can’t go home again. It’s true, but that was the closest thing. I also went back to the Academy.”

Digging his fingers deeper in Frumpkin’s fur, Essek holds his breath.

“I saw some old friends. And also… them. They need to pay for what they’ve done to me and to others, Essek, and more importantly they need to stop. And I can make them. I’m not afraid anymore.”

When Caleb pulls himself upright, Essek almost loses his balance. There’s a hand on his shoulder, pulling at him, and when he turns around Caleb is looking at him.

And Essek believes what he said: there’s no fear in his crystal blue eyes. He looks away from them, taking in the rest of his face. Caleb’s hair is a little bit longer, and the short, ginger beard he grew makes Essek’s heart somersault in his chest.

There are so many things he wants to say. Guilt sits heavy as a stone on his heart, but hope's frail fingers keep that weight from shattering it altogether.

“You have my help,” he says. “If you want it.”

Reaching out to scratch at Frumpkin’s head, Caleb leans forward, lowering his voice. “Essek, I need to know. Was it real? Any of it?”

He doesn’t need to specify what _it_ is. “Yes,” Essek whispers. “Whatever else was going on, I… I wanted you more than I feared being found out. I told myself I was doing it to keep you close, and maybe that was also true in the beginning.” He doesn’t know if Caleb will ever forgive him for this, but the time to dissimulate his feelings has passed. “And when you agreed to keep it secret, I thought it was because you had something to hide, too. I’ve been asking myself… why _did_ you agree?”

Caleb rolls his eyes with a self-deprecating laugh. “Because I couldn’t believe my luck? Because I didn’t think you’d want people to know? Because I thought you were ashamed of me?”

Laughing in disbelief, Essek looks at him. No, he’s not lying. Relief and incredulity fill him in equal parts. Did Caleb really think _he_ was the lucky one? All the nerves Essek felt before vanish, replaced by an odd calm. This is the turning point, the singularity, and he’s ready. “Caleb, I think I’ve started falling in love with you the first time I drove you home. I didn’t know that’s what it was, until it was too late.” He reaches out towards the hand that’s scratching Frumpkin, then he stops. “Do you remember when you asked me what I wanted? The morning after…”

Without looking at him, Caleb nods silently.

“I never asked it back. What do you want? Because,” he goes on before Caleb can answer, “I understand if you can’t forgive me for what I’ve done. It’s fine.” It’s not fine, but Essek will make it so. “But if there’s a chance that you could, I can wait. I will always wait.”

Essek closes his mouth. This is all he had to say (all he'd hoped he would be able to say, if Caleb would listen), the offering is placed on the ground, and the rest is not in his hands anymore.

His heart misses a beat when, after a few seconds, Caleb’s hand bridges the distance and he interlaces their fingers on Frumpkin’s back. He looks up, and their eyes meet.

“I thought about you while I was home, Essek. We’re not that different, you and I, and if I had a second chance, so should you. I know you're trying to do better. I am, too,” Caleb whispers. “What I want… Essek, I would very much like to try and do it together.”

A year ago, Essek had no friends, no family. Now his hands and his heart are not empty anymore. And it all started with him trusting Caleb with his heart without realizing what he was doing, without knowing that Caleb was doing the same. He vows to be more careful with this precious thing, if he’s ever allowed to have it again.

Speaking of, there's still something Caleb needs to know. “I love you,” he says simply, just because he can, just because he needs to. He closes his eyes, relieved. It doesn’t matter if Caleb doesn’t say it back: letting him know is all he can do.

When he opens his eyes again, Caleb is smiling. “I know.”

Essek blinks. “You do?”

With a chuckle, Caleb leans in, pressing a kiss on Essek’s forehead. “I think you told me many times, in many ways,” he whispers against his skin. “I just wasn't listening.”

Oh.

He supposes he did.

And, at the same time, Beau’s words echo in his mind. _He was in love with you._ All the evenings, the mornings, the afternoons, the acts of service, the times Caleb brought him his cat for comfort, the affection he put in all the names he called him are data that come together to form a pattern, and he pulls back, astonished, searching for the answer in Caleb’s face as he says, “You did, too.”

There are no models to follow, no predictions he can make. He doesn’t know where to go from here: all he knows is that he won’t be alone, and that’s enough. What he thought could be an ending may be a beginning, instead.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you made it down here in one piece! Thanks so much for reading this fic. I wrote the bulk of it in four frenzied weeks in December and I really hope you liked it. Also I put a few Easter eggs in there, I'd love to know if you spotted them!
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://mllekurtz.tumblr.com/) anytime!


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